Vertigo
by quiet-little-wallflower
Summary: if a child's name is plucked from out of the strange bowl, it's the very beginning of the most distasteful end, and as much as the Escort might prattle on about odds and favour, if a child's name is read out to the crowd the statistics are no longer looking good. Twenty four children leave their homes for the Capitol and only one of them is destined to come back.
1. Introduction and Tribute List

It's something like a giant fishbowl, its surface sleek, curved and entirely see through, but there is no water in this bowl. There are no pebbles down the bottom, no water plants, no fish either because you see, this not a fish bowl, not something ornamental and relaxing to look at. No, this is something much more sinister.

This is the reaping bowl.

Replacing the lively colored goldfish that one should find in such an item are hundreds, sometimes even thousands of strips of paper carefully folded in half and held shut by the tiniest piece of black tape.

A woman, sometimes even a man but always a person with brightly colored and perfectly manicured hands will dip their fingers into the bowl, snatch out one of the slips and tear away the tape, before unfolding the paper to read the name neatly printed within.

The crowd of children watching this strange affair all do so with bated breath. None of them want to hear the man or woman read out their name. All of them want it to be someone else's, as long as it's not them or someone they hold dear to them.

Because you see, if a child's name is plucked from out of the strange bowl, it's the very beginning of the most distasteful end, and as much as the Escort might prattle on about odds and favour, if a child's name is read out to the crowd the statistics are no longer looking good. Twenty four children leave their homes for the Capitol and only one of them is destined to come back.

No, if a child's name is plucked out of one of the reaping bowls the odds are certainly not in their favor

* * *

**District 1- Luxury**

Male- Brock Emerald, 18

Female- Aria Mallow, 18

**District 2- Masonry**

Male- Jarrad Emery, 17

Female- Rose Stroud, 17

**District 3- Electronics**

Male- Flinch Lightwood, 17

Female- Allius Winters, 17

**District 4- Fishing**

Male- Grant Green, 13

Female- Brynn Halee, 17,

**District 5- Power**

Male- Lewis Natbotch, 15

Female- Jane Rooke, 18

**District 6- Transportation**

Male- Russel Darcy, 14

Female- Katie Chandler, 12

**District 7- Lumber**

Male- Luke Pallas, 17

Female- Cyra Hale, 15

**District 8- Textiles**

Male- Airick Marloth, 15

Female- Vivian May, 16

**District 9- Grain**

Male- Hercules Strong, 18

Female- Demeter Ross, 17

**District 10- Livestock**

Male- Gray Atrium, 16

Female- Jay Bird, 14

**District 11- Agriculture**

Male- Spencer Lux, 15

Female- Rye Goldsmith, 16

**District 12- Mining**

Male- Cole Mackenzie, 14

Female- Modest Kline, 14


	2. District 1 Reaping

**Oh my gosh, I'm a bundle of nerves right now, but on the other hand I'm excited because I've finally finished the first reaping! I don't want to take up all your time with a big AN at the start so I'll leave it for the end, but anyway, Enjoy! (hopefully)**

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**Aria Mallow, 18**

Torque hits the ground with a loud thud, his back hitting the mat first, closely followed by his head. In the time it takes for my heart to pass one beat I pin him down with my knees and press the blunt training blade against his throat. His old face crinkles up in defeat before morphing into a smile. "Well kiddo, you're definitely ready for this. Mind letting me up now?"

I nod and get up. He takes a little longer to stand and when he does so he winces, arching his back and making it crack. It doesn't surprise me, we've been training since dawn and I can tell he's exhausted. Even I'm feeling it a little bit, he almost had me beat in the last few minutes, trapping me in headlocks and managing a sneaky punch to my side when I wasn't at the top of my game, but he never had the advantage for long. I always find a way out.

"Guess I better lock up and send you on your way." Torque says, gesturing towards the door.

"You wouldn't mind if I stayed here for a bit would you, before the reaping?" I ask. My voice is a little too eager, making Torque raise his eyebrows at me questioningly.

"It's your last few hours before you head off to the games, don't you want to be out doing things with your friends?"

_Yeah, that would be nice if I actually had any friends._

"It's just, this place has been like a second home to me and I just...need some time to say goodbye, you know?" It already sounds like a paper thin excuse as the last few words form on the tip of my tongue, but it's the best I've got. I need him to let me stay just that little while longer. The thought of having to spend my last few hours of the semi freedom I have left with that awful man back home makes my stomach churn and my knees feel weak.

Torque stares at me for the longest time, his cobalt eyes scrutinizing every millimetre of my face. The anticipation for his answer is almost impossible to bear and I find myself holding my breath.

_Please. Don't make me go back there._

"Alright, you can stay." He says finally, passing me the room key. "Just make sure you give those to Marion on your way out, ok?"

"Of course, thank you."

He smiles at me, squeezes my right shoulder tightly. "I'll see you soon Kiddo."

"Maybe." I stutter, avoiding his gaze.

"No maybes. You just try to come back all in one piece alright? I've put a lot of effort into training you up. Don't let it go to waste."

All I can do is nod and try to force a smile onto my face as he turns and makes his way out of the room. The sound of the door clicking shut seems to be so much louder than it should be, a harsh snap filling an otherwise silent space. It's like it's trying to let me know I'm on my own from now on, which must be some kind of warped joke, seeing as I've felt alone for almost my whole entire life.

I go over to the side of the room and open the duffel bag I brought with me in the morning, quietly pull out the pale blue dress and the scuffed up buckle shoes. As I do so through the walls I can hear the sound of a sword slicing through a dummy and for the shortest moment the hairs on my back bristle, making me shiver. Brock must be doing some last minute training too. It's weird, we've known one another our whole lives and within a weeks time we'll both be thrown into an arena, more than likely fighting each other to the death. Though we've never really been what you can call friends we've for the most part gotten on well enough, despite his unbelievable arrogance. I've watched him fall from the climbing sets and scrape his knees open, I've sat across from him in strategizing classes, eaten my lunch under the same willow tree. It's almost wrong that after today that boy with the strawberry blond hair will more than likely try and kill me.

I push the thoughts out of my head and wriggle out of my clothes and into my reaping outfit. Bruises that have started to yellow out wrap around my left shoulder and I wince as I slip my arm through the dresses strappy sleeve. I run a hand across the bruised flesh and sigh, I'd been hoping the marks would have disappeared by now. Guess I'll just have to wear my hair out, which should be fine, it's long enough to cover the damage.

With I sigh I take one last look around the training room, trying to remember each and every part of it, let it stick fast in my mind. The chipped paint in the left corner, the knife rack, the smallest of which still seems to be missing, my own appearance in the roof to floor length mirrors that line the left hand side of the room. For a moment as I stare into my own blue eyes, cold and sad as ever and I wonder if there is someone behind them watching me, sitting in the room behind it and taking notes like they did on the day of my final evaluation. No one is there today, no one is sitting behind that wall writing down their recommendation for me to be the years female volunteer, scribbling their notes down on stark white paper.

No, today I'm alone. Just like I've always been.

With one final look at my reflection I turn and leave the room, not bothering to take my bag or training gear, clicking the door shut behind me.

**Brock Emerald, 18**

"Working on your day off huh?" a familiar voice calls out to me as I leave the Academy. Topaz is resting against one of the gritty walls, a wide smile spread across her round face.

"No rest for the wicked." I quip back and she laughs, linking her arm with my own.

"Even on reaping day?"

"Especially on reaping day."

For the shortest moment she smiles back up at me but then it fades, her expression clouding over with obvious worry. "I wish you weren't volunteering."

"Aww come on Tops, we've been through this a thousand times. You know I'm coming back." I say grinning at her. It's the kind of grin that makes every other girl smile, no matter what I've said or done to them, but it's never worked on Topaz. She's completely immune to my charms. It's probably one of the main reasons we've always been able to remain such close friends, but at times I can't help but find myself wishing I had a little bit of leeway with her.

"You don't know that a hundred percent Brock. The odds aren't really that much in your favour." She says, as we start to walk away from the warehouse that's been the Training Academy for generations.

"I beg to differ. I'll be in the Career pack for starters and have you seen this face? I'll have so many sponsors my mentor will have to beat them away with a stick."

"God you're so arrogant." She says, rolling her eyes.

"Aww come on Tops I'm not that bad, but I mean have you seen these muscles?" I grin, flexing my bicep and striking a dramatic pose. "You know I've got a major advantage."

She rolls her eyes. "How you can joke about all this? You could be dead in a few weeks. I don't understand how you can be so peppy."

"Because I know I'm going to be fine. If the rest of my competition is anything like Sallow Mallow I'll be home before you know it."

"You shouldn't call her that, it's not nice."

"She's not exactly the nicest kid getting around."

She opens her mouth to say something more but instead just sighs, shaking her head at me. "You're exasperating."

"You know you'll miss me when I'm gone." I say, leaning my head against hers as we round the corner that leads into our street. She sighs once more and nestles her head against my shoulder.

"More than I'd like to." She smiles, but her eyes are all sadness and I have to look away, focus on the pokey picket fence that separates my house from hers. My little sister Opal is leaning against it, completely unaware of our presence and entirely lost in her own world. Opal is thirteen years old and shares a lot of the same physical characteristics as I do. She's got strawberry blond hair, the uncharacteristic tan skin to go with it and the same steely blue eyes, right down to the shape and size. Not a single person could ever deny that the two of us are related.

"Hey small fry what'cha doing?" I call out as we approach her and I can't help but laugh a little when her head snaps over in my direction, the messy plait she's wears her hair in smacking against her cheek as she does so.

"Waiting for you two to get here" She calls back, grinning like a loon. "Topaz said she'd do my hair like the braid she wore for last year's reaping."

"Well I'll leave you two to get that sorted then. Did Ma lie out my outfit?" I ask her, knowing that our parents would almost certainly have already left home for the reaping. They love every part of the games and don't ever want to miss a single second of it, even all the ridiculous setting up that's done before a reaping.

"Mmmhmm," She says, linking an arm with Topaz and dragging her off towards the front door to our house. "She left them on the bed for you."

"Great, I'll see you guys later then." I say, waving as they disappear through the front door. For the shortest moment I stand and watch the doorway, even after I can no longer hear their footsteps making their way down the hall. I think about my sister's goofy grin and I feel my chest constrict. There's a lot at stake in regards to me going into the games, I've just got to make sure I win.

**Aria Mallow, 18**

"Aria!"

I hear someone call out from behind me as I present my hand to have the blood sample taken. My search for the owner of the voice distracts me from what I'm actually doing and I yelp in shock as the pin pricks me. The girl standing behind me snickers, her oversized green eyes daring me to say something to her as my own sweep across her face, but I decide that ignoring her is the best course of action. As the girl huffs a few more times in an attempt to get my attention I finally find the owner of the voice.

It's Jemima Lourdes, a young girl of about fourteen who I've trained with on the odd occasion. She's your typical district 1 citizen, golden hair, wide green eyes and legs that seem to have neither a beginning nor an end. Even for her young age she's already incredibly attractive and from what some of the other trainers have been saying highly skilled. That doesn't really surprise me though, It's essential for her that she excels in our field, for the same reasons it's been so important for me. Not that she's ever admitted that to me of course. I just know the kind of bruises she wears. The black eye during weeks where we haven't had close combat training, the slight red fingerprints around the edges of her neck, the empty look you can find in her eyes.

I've worn all three of those things many times before. I know exactly what the markings left by a cruel father look like.

"Jemima," I call back, waving my hand slightly.

She walks cautiously up to greet me and only half waves her hand, almost mimicking my own action. "You volunteer today, don't you?" She asks, not even really looking at me, her eyes focused on something to the left of my head.

"Yes."

"Well, I just thought I'd come wish you good luck. So, good luck."

"Thanks."I say, and it's all I can manage to say back. I'd love to say something kinder, to really let her know that I appreciate her well wishing, but I just can't bring myself to do it. A part of me just can't help but wonder whether she's being entirely sincere, no matter how ridiculous such a thought might be.

She waits for a few seconds longer by my side but when it becomes apparent I've got nothing more to say she just nods and walk off towards the fourteen year old section. I decide to follow her lead and find a place in amongst the other eighteen year old girls. All around me I can hear them whispering and I can almost feel their eyes watching me. Even though it's supposed to be kept on the down low word inevitably ends up getting around regarding who's going to be the volunteer.

I try my best to shut out their voices as the rest of the crowd arrives, but it's a hard thing to do when every five seconds I can hear my name being rattled off by another voice.

_Aria. Aria. Aria Mallow. The Mallow Girl. Aria. Sallow Mallow. Aria Mallow. Aria._

When Phoebus finally saunters onto the stage and the crowd goes silent I can't help but feel relieved.

"Well Hello District 1!" He calls out, funny little tongue flicking against his strange green lips. "I must say it's such a delight to return as your escort."

He's a bit too peachy and excited, but some of the crowd murmur a response. I keep my eyes glued on the reaping bowl the whole time, even through the propo film that he plays after prattling on about courageous boys and girls and honor. Beside me I can hear the voices that had only moments before been mimicking me now whispering the words said by the President in the propo. I can't tell whether they are making fun of the film or mouthing the words with pride and my unsureness on the matter makes my spine tingle. When what feels like a million years has past me by the propo finally ends and Phoebus returns to the microphone.

"Now that is something isn't it!" He exclaims, "Gets me every time!" He waits for some kind of response and when nothing comes he carries on as though nothing's happened. "Well I guess we better get this show on the road! Ladies first, as usual."

As he makes his way across the stage and dips his hand in the reaping bowl I hold my breath. This is it, my last few moments as Aria Mallow, resident of District 1, daughter of a drunk and abusive father and a long dead mother. In a matter of moments I'll be Aria Mallow, volunteer tribute for the 38th Annual Hunger Games, property of the Capitol until my heart stops beating.

It's disturbing how much more comforting I find what's to come than the life I've already lived.

Phoebus finally plucks one of the slips out of the bowl and unfolds it, clicking his tongue as he reads over the name. "Saffron Ainsley" He calls out.

I don't watch as a girl makes her way from the sixteen year old section and up onto the stage. I know what she'll look like anyway. She'll be cool and calm, not in the slightest bit afraid, not like the kids from the outer districts. She knows that someone in the crowd is waiting to take her place. I can't help but wonder what it must be like to know with such certainty that you're safe from danger.

"Now before we formally introduce Miss Ainsley to the public, do we have any volunteers?" Phoebus asks.

This is it. I wipe my hands on the skirt of my dress, lick my lips that have gone as dry as paper. Then I push my hand high up into the air so everyone can see it.

"Yes. I volunteer."

**Brock Emerald, 18**

I watch as Aria makes her way up onto the stage, her gaze set hard as stone on the steps, her hands clutching tightly to the edges of her dress. That's her tell, those two hands wringing the powder blue fabric, that's all I need to tell me that she's absolutely terrified on the inside. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared myself. Sure I've trained my whole life for the games, but when the moment that you're due to offer your life up for the taking finally comes, well, it's a little bit daunting.

Phoebus plays along perfect as ever, feigning disbelief as Aria finally takes her place beside him. "Well I'll be damned, what's a pretty young thing like you volunteering for?" He asks as the other girl, whose name I can't even remember is escorted off stage.

Aria's face is blank and impassive as she turns to face one of the cameras. "It's about bringing pride and honor to your district isn't it? I feel like I'm the best candidate for that."

"Time will surely tell!" Phoebus exclaims, rubbing his hands together. "Now for the boys!"

He takes no more than two steps before I make my move. "I volunteer!" I shout out, pushing my way through the boys in front and making my way to the stage. Phoebus looks from me to the other officials and back to me again, completely at a loss at what to do. I doubt he's ever had someone volunteer before the name has been read out and it almost makes me crack up into hysterics when I see the confused look his pallid green face is wearing. I skip up the steps, my heart beating hard and fast against my chest and extend my hand out towards his.

"Just couldn't wait, you know?" I say, grinning first at him and then turning to flash a smile at one of the cameras. Phoebus glances over to the other officials one last time, not entirely sure whether this is ok, but the mayor just shrugs.

"I suppose so. What might your name be young man?" He asks.

"Brock Emerald."

"Well, then, Ladies and Gentleman may I present to you our tributes for District 1, Aria Mallow and Brock Emerald!" He cries out, before gesturing at the two of us to shake hands. Aria extends her hand warily, almost as though at the last second she'll think better of it and pull away, so I grab hold of it fast and make the exchange quick, smiling widely at her. In return I get a blank face with sad blue eyes. She's not even going to bother pretending that this is a moment to be proud like I am. Sallow Mallow never was much for that.

As we wave at the crowd before being led to the justice building I spy Opal with her hair done up in one of Topaz's intricate braids, her face a mixture of pride and worry. I don't ever want her to have to stand up on this stage like I am right now. If I die our parents will force her to volunteer, just like they made me. Our parent's greed has always won out in regards to their love for us. I'm just hoping I'll finally be able to placate it.

I have to win, for her sake.

* * *

**AN: Well how did you like it? I hope I've done an alright job of these two tributes, I really really enjoyed writing them! Both of them have sort of uncomfortable relationships with their parents (to say the least) and I tossed up a whole bunch of ideas relating to how I could show them interacting with these characters, but in the end I felt like not having them present in the chapter might work just as well, I don't know, what do you think?**

**Also I was thinking if you like, you could submit an Escort, or a Mentor (even a stylist). They wouldn't have huge roles of course, but I think it's fun to write about them they are a sort of important part of the story. So if you feel like submitting one, I'll happily use them :)**

**I would also just like to say that I got the Hunger Games on DVD and The Tribute Diaries were so awesome! and the making of, and the full propo and just wow guys just wow!**

**ok I'm going to stop now. ^.^**


	3. District 2 Reaping

**AN: OH my god, how time flies! I meant to have this finished ages ago but my week has been absolutely hectic! first my mums birthday, then father's day, it was absolute insanity and I apologize that this wasn't up sooner! anyway, enjoy!**

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**Jarred Emery, 17**

When I walk back into the house after some last minute training I can smell the scent of freshly baked bread wafting down the hallway. By the time I get to the kitchen Jayleen has already started slicing and buttering it up, her child hands grasping hold of the knife tightly, her eyes focused on the bread with unnecessary intensity. There's something almost ridiculous about the look on the ten year olds face and as I watch her I almost find myself smiling. Almost.

From the other side of the table my father pears up over the paper he's reading, ice blue eyes glaring at me. "Well, how'd you go?"

"Belos says I did great. I'm moving fast, and my skills with spears can't be paralleled by any of the other prospective volunteers." I say, my voice monotone. He shifts a little in his chair so I can see his whole face over the top of his paper and I clench my fists at my side, bracing myself for the question I know will come next.

"Well, what about sword training? Did he have anything to say about that?"

"You know that's not my area. I prefer things I can use at a distance as well as in close combat." I say through gritted teeth.

He rolls his eyes and shifts his gaze back to the paper clutched in his hands. "All the best victors from 2 used swords."

"This year will be different."

He doesn't even acknowledge my final sentence and I stand in the doorway for a few moments watching him, trying to contain the awful rage building up inside me. I've spent my whole life training for the games; all for him and my mother and no matter what I do it's just not good enough for either of them. It seems since the day I was born I've been a daily disappointment to them in one way or another. I've learnt not to care too much about it. As long as I'm not disappointing myself I'm fine, that's all that really matters.

"Want some toast Jaz?" Jayleen asks, breaking me away from thoughts that involve my father's head being impaled on one of his precious swords.

I shake my head. "Nah I'm fine. I'm sure there'll be plenty of food to eat on the train."

"But if you don't make it up on stage you'll be hungry." She laughs, waving a piece of the bread around in the air, trying to make it look enticing.

I can't help but humour her. She's so different to me. While I'm cold and nonchalant she's bright and caring, always trying to get me to smile and be happy. It's a lost cause of course, I'm not a happy person. I won't be happy until I step off my plate and enter the games, and even then I'll probably just be as cold and awful as ever.

That's fine with me.

**Rose Stroud, 17**

"I wish my parents were victors so I could have dresses like you." Mckenna sighs as she holds one of my dresses against herself. "It's so not fair Rose."

"I'll trade you the Capitol Luxuries for a home that's not empty for half the year then, sound like a fair deal?" I say, thumbing through the pile of dresses we've stacked on the bed.

"Done." She laughs, leaning down and pulling a green dress with intricate floral patterns out of the pile. She pushes it towards me, smiling. "This one, It'll bring out those gorgeous green eyes of yours."

"Why does it even matter if it'll bring my eyes out? We're just going to a reaping."

She looks at me with her eyes wide open and mouth gaping, feigning shock. "Oh Rose Stroud, honestly you make me want to cry sometimes. To think you look like you do and on the one day you can really put it to good use you don't even register it."

I feel my cheeks going red under the wayward dark curls hanging across my face. "I just don't think it's that big a deal. No one will see me after all, it's not like I'll be up on that stage."

"But every boy in the district will be there! Don't you at the very least want to look nice for that reason?"

I snatch the dress from out of her fingers and poke my tongue at her. "You know I can't be bothered with all that."

"Well I wish you were. Every boy in the district wants to find a way into your pants."

"No they don't and that's just disgusting." I spit back at her, feeling my cheeks going an even darker shade of crimson than they already were. She just laughs at me, rolling her eyes.

"You really have no idea at all." She pauses mid way through changing into the red dress she'd already asked to borrow and looks out my window quizzically. "Shouldn't Julie be here by now? She only lives like five blocks away."

"You know Julie, she gets a bit distracted sometimes." I say while internally chastising myself for forgetting she was even supposed to be here. "I'm sure she'll be here soon enough."

"Don't worry, I can already see her, she just came around the bend."

By the time my mother lets Julie in and she makes her way up to my room Mckenna and I have already changed into our reaping outfits. Each of the dresses hug tightly around our waists before the skirt fans out all floaty like to our mid thighs and I'd be lying if I said we didn't look appealing, if not almost adult. It's a stark contrast to the way Julie looks when she shyly walks through my doorway. Her dress is an elegant navy thing with the loveliest embroidery stitched around the hem that once belonged to her sister. On Jen it would have been an absolute knockout, but on Julie it just doesn't sit right. She's still thin like a child, with nonexistent hips and an almost flat chest. The dress hangs awkwardly around her body, making her look a little lost in amongst it all.

She tucks a strand of her short brown hair behind her ear and smiles at us. "Hey guys. You both look really lovely."

"Thanks Jules." I say, smiling at her. "You look really pretty too."

"You're just saying that because you have to."

"No I'm saying it because I mean it." I say, shoving her gently, because I really do mean it, sort of. She might still look like a bit childish, but that doesn't mean she isn't pretty, in her own funny little way.

"Alright enough you two, we've got a reaping to get too and none of those trained kids are going to be able to volunteer without an audience present." Mckenna shouts at us, pushing us through the doorway that poor Julie was only just leaning against.

"I really hate reaping day." Julie says as we walk down the hall, "It makes me nervous."

"Oh Julie, you really are the sweetest." I laugh, giving her a gentle pat on the shoulder. "You've got nothing to be worried about."

"I know I know, but you know me, always getting worked up over pointless things."

"Well you shouldn't. Now I don't know about you guys but I missed breakfast this morning." I say, desperate to move the conversation away from Julie's worries so she can forget about them and relax. "How about after the reaping we go down to the bakery and get some of those delicious cupcakes with the blueberry icing? I'll pay."

"Sounds fantastic Rose." Mckenna replies, and all talk of pre reaping nerves are replaced entirely by the promise of cake as we make our way to the town square.

**Jarred Emery, 17**

I've found myself a spot in the seventeen year old section close to the walk way that leads up to the stage, just like my trainer told me to do. When the time comes to volunteer it's always a mad debacle, with all those who think themselves worthy enough pushing and shoving their way violently through the crowd, desperate to be the first to find their way up onstage and be declared the tribute. According to Belos they have a much more organized system in district 1. They train all the kids as a collective and then pick the best to volunteer, but he reckons it'd never work here. We of District 2 are too proud and too stubborn to give up the chance to win the games just because someone else has been declared better than us. He said they trialled it one year and it failed miserably, everyone just fought to get on stage just like every other year while the kids who were handpicked got left in the background, too stunned to move.

I've got to keep calm and focus on getting myself to that stage before anyone else. It's doubtful any males under seventeen will try to volunteer, but there could be anywhere from five to twenty boys from both the seventeen year old and the eighteen year old section that I'll have to beat. I can already tell that one of the boys next to me is also planning to volunteer. Like me he hasn't been listening to any of Wanda's stupid ramblings about the Capitol, and his eyes are glued to the stair way the whole way through the propo. He's a tall boy, taller than me, with ebony hair and biceps the size of a small child's head. I have no idea who he is and frankly I don't give a damn. I already know who's going to be standing on that stage ready to bring the pride and honor to our district that it deserves.

It's going to be me.

"Now get excited folks! Let's head on over to the bowl and pull out a lucky ladies name, shall we?" Wanda, the escort, crows out at the crowd. She half skips to the bowl, her blue bouffant bouncing dangerously across her head as she does so. Behind me I can hear a few boys murmuring about how damn fine her legs look and I can't help but shake my head. In any of the outer districts we'd all be still as statues, unable to even string a whole sentence together in our minds, let alone speak out loud about anything. But here in 2, where you're almost certainly safe? Nah, no worries at all. Those kids are so relaxed they even have the time to check out the escort.

I don't though, I need to stay focused.

Wanda flicks her hand around in the bowl very quickly, pulling out one of the names that had been resting on top of the pile of papers. She skips back to the microphone and smiles widely, her silver teeth glinting in the midday sun. "hmmm. Well now. Julie Watercress!" She calls out.

I don't even acknowledge the girl. She's not going to be the one who'll be my ally in the arena, before becoming my enemy. She's just some girl who's got to get up on the stage for a few minutes to adhere to Capitol formalities. Soon enough the girls will be pushing and shoving their way through the crowd, all too eager to take her place.

Except for the first time in nearly fifteen years, that doesn't happen.

When Wanda expectantly asks if there are any volunteers not a single girl pushes her way through the crowd. There is no screaming, no shoving, not even the clawing at faces you sometimes see with the really aggressive girls. All that has been replaced with a crowd of stunned and curious faces peering around at each other, all looking for something that with each second it becomes apparent isn't going to happen.

I glance back up at the girl on stage. She's rather short and almost sickly thin, with wispy brown hair and wide grey eyes that are open wide, dew dropped shaped tears beginning to form around the corners. There is no way she'd last five seconds in the games and I make myself a quick mental note to kill her during the bloodbath. I can't have something that pitiful weighing me down in the games after all.

Apparently just as shocked as the rest of us, Wanda taps the microphone and says with a voice that's almost pleading, "One last time, are there any volunteers? Any at all?"

That's when from somewhere in the lines across from me a hand shoots up in the air, and a soft shaky voice calls out the words that haven't been spoken off stage for so many years. "I volunteer."

The other girls part, making a pathway for this apparent saviour to make her way out onto the stage and it actually surprises me when I recognize her. She's Rose Stroud, The daughter of two very notable victors. I've had a few classes with her at school, but neither of us has ever talked. All I know is that her father killed seven people in his games and her mother decapitated her own district partner. Even without any kind of formal training that stigma is going to stick with her.

She'll be good for sponsors.

**Rose Stroud, 17**

As I make my way out of the group of shocked girls I'd only moments before been standing in line with I pause for a moment to squeeze my shaking hands together, trying with all my might to make them stop. This is a mistake, I know that already. I'm more than likely going to never come back to my home after this. If it had been anyone else they would have just left Julie up there to meet her fate. I couldn't do that though. She's so timid, so sweet. She'd die in the bloodbath, no doubt about it. I couldn't watch one of my closest friends go through that knowing I stood by and did nothing.

Now I'm the one facing Panem's most elaborate death sentence.

A peacekeeper reaches an arm out to guide me up to the stage, snapping me out of my momentary daze. I shrug his arm off. If I present myself as weak from the beginning, as someone who needs to be guided onto the stage like a pathetic child no one will take me seriously as a career and that's what I need to sell myself as from now on.

Holding my head high I make my way up onto the stage, careful not to look at any of the kids all peering with obvious curiosity at me. By the time I find my place beside Wanda I've almost managed to convince myself that this was my plan all along, that I'd always intended to volunteer for the games.

_Almost._

"Now I'm sure I've seen your face somewhere before?" Wanda says as she gives me a brisk hug, her manicured nails digging into my shoulder blades as she does so. I wait another moment for her to elaborate, thinking she'll say something else but instead I find her staring at me expectantly.

"I'm Rose Stroud, I'm sure you who my mother and father are." I say, gesturing to the seats behind her. My father sits next to Nymeria, the female mentor for the year, his face ashen. He smiles at me and nods his head towards the crowd, feigning pride but I can see the anguish in his eyes.

"I knew it! They must both be so proud!" Wanda replies.

I grin widely at her and laugh, hoping whole heartedly that my voice won't shake as I say what I'm about to next. I've always been excellent at hiding the truth, at spinning lies but this is quite different. Never have I had to lie to ensure my own survival. "Of course they are. It's always been my dream to follow in their footsteps; I might as well do it now."

"No doubt you'll do a fine job of it! Now I know we are all very interested in our female tribute, but we really must get on with the males now, so without further adieu..." She says, skipping over to the males bowl, leaving me alone in the centre of the stage to wonder whether I've been convincing enough to the audience before me.

The boys name is Franklin, or something along those mundane lines. He's a small twitchy looking kid of about fourteen. He watches the crowd nervously as he stands beside me; no doubt panicking that no one will step forward and take his place like what just happened with Julie. His worries prove unnecessary, the very second the '_v' _in the word volunteer escapes Wanda's lips the usual chaos ensues. Boys start screaming at each other, pushing each other, some even punching each other on their way to apparent glory. It's even more disturbing watching it on stage than it had been in the previous years when I'd watched in amongst it all and I have to work even harder to hold myself together.

When the fight to the front is finally over and the _lucky _boy is pulled up alongside me by Wanda I feel the blood in my veins turn to ice.

His blue eyes are all but obscured by the brown bangs that hang across his face, but I'd know those eyes anywhere. I've seen them stare cold and indifferent at a dead frog as he sliced its body open in bio classes. I've seen them scrutinizing the younger children who can't fend for themselves against the older kids. I've seen them watching me in class as I talked with McKenna.

_Jarred Emery_. None of the other Career kids left me feeling so uncomfortable and afraid after I've found myself caught in their gaze, not like he has.

I've been stuck in a frozen state of panic while he introduces himself to the crowd and it's only when I feel his cold clammy hand grab hold of mine that I find a way out of it. His fingers crush my own as he stares into my eyes, his own cruel and apathetic. They say exactly what I've already been thinking; that I'm not good enough for this; that I'm not going to prove to be a threat to anyone in the arena. Even if it is true, I can't let him think that, so I squeeze back. I don't have nearly enough strength to match his harsh grasp but it's enough to make him raise his eyebrows and just enough to get one corner of his mouth to twitch into a slight smile.

Hopefully it's enough to prove to him I'm not just a scared little girl trying to pass herself off as a Career.

* * *

**AN: Well now, I hope that was alright, these two proved to be a little harder to write about than Aria and Brock, so I hope I got their characterizations right. I also thought I'd do a different sort of reaping system for district 2 than what I did for 1, because those darn kids from 2 seem a tad more dedicated to the whole games experience. That being said, It's great to have _most_ of my Careers done, and I'm super excited to start writing the reapings for the kids from 3!**


	4. District 3 Reaping

**GAAAAAAAAAH! FINALLY THIS CHAPTER IS FINISHED! OH MY GOD THIS IS THE BEST FEELING EVER.**

**Now, I'm sure some of you are probably sitting there thinking gee, it took her a great long time to write just this one chapter, am I right? Well believe it or not, this chapter could have been up on the saturday night that just passed. I'd written the whole thing in one go and was sitting in front of the computer screen, basking in the joy and happiness that is finishing a chapter, when my laptop went absolutely mental and shut down word. I hadn't saved it. There was no Autosaves for the file when I opened it back up. I. Lost. Everything.****  
**

_**Everything.**_

_**EVERYTHING!**_

**Then my laptop died, like not pretend death, it died for real, so I had to go buy a new one and well hey presto! I rewrote the chapter!**

**Well now you know about all the technological mayhem that has befallen me in the last week I guess I better let you get on with reading!**

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**Allius Winters, 17**

My bedroom is still cloaked in darkness when the alarm goes off. Almost instantly my hand swings out to slap the shaking, screeching clock into silence, but instead I wind up knocking a pile of books off the bedside table. In the bed across from me I hear Haze groan.

"Make that thing shut up." She hisses, and in the dim light of the room I see her pillow wrap itself around her head. I swing my hand out again, and this time it hits the clock, returning the room to the almost perfect silence I'm sure it had been in while we'd been sleeping.

"That's a lot better." She sighs, sitting up, her long brown hair sticking out every which way. It's always like that in the morning, like a bird's nest made from knotted together strands of hair on the back of her head. "Why did you even have that thing on anyway? We don't have school today, it's not like you need to get up."

"I'm meeting the guys to watch the sun rise, you know, Reaping tradition." I reply, stretching my arms up above my head. Each bone and muscle feels the strain and I find myself wishing I was one of those lucky people who wake up feeling chipper and refreshed. No matter how many hours of sleep I get I always wake up feeling like I've been hit by a train.

My eyes adjust enough to the dim light leaking through the shutters to see her face, and even though its cast in shadows I see her eyebrows furrow, knitting together in confusion. "You guys still do that?"

"Of course we do. It's tradition."

"But you could sleep in?"

"I'd rather go out and experience something rather than waste a few hours of my life curled up in bed."

"I don't consider it a waste," Haze says, yawning. "I might just dream about Cornish Grayson while I'm sleeping."

I can't help but laugh. Haze has been head over heels in love with the butcher's son, Cornish, for almost a year and a half now. At first she tried to keep it a secret, afraid in that way so many of us are when it comes to revealing potentially vulnerable feelings, but secrets are a hard thing to keep to just oneself, so eventually she spilled the beans to me.

"Well I don't want to keep you from him any longer then." I whisper, slipping out of my bed and staggering in my half asleep state to the clothes rack. The white dress is poking out from amongst the other few clothes we own, almost mocking me. _Wearing me again are you? No new dress this year, hmmm? Didn't grow just that little bit extra over the summer? When was that supposed to happen again? Three, maybe four summers ago?_

_Oh shut up you._

Another year gone by and I'm still stuck with the dress my mother made for my first reaping. "When you grow a bit taller you can pick out some fabric and we'll make you one of those pretty dresses all the older girls wear, does that sound nice?" My mother had said to me. That was five years ago now. I'm still the same height, still the same size. The chances of getting one of those wonderful dresses are now very, _very_ slim. I don't really mind though, it's an extravagance we really can't afford anyway.

Still, I wouldn't mind something with a little more umph to it.

I change into the dress and slip on the badly scuffed buckle up black shoes. My mother begged me to take good care of them, but seeing as our reaping day tradition requires activities better suited to a pair of good lace ups and coupled with my generally awkward balance, there was no way they were ever going to stay shiny and new.

My backpack is sitting by the edge of the bed, pre packed with a jar of rhubarb jam and a small punnet of strawberries, four to be exact. They cost me a whole weeks wage down at the factory after school, but I feel like it's more than worth it. The twins are bringing the bread this year and Flinch is bringing tea in a thermos. It's nowhere near as wonderful as the meal we had last year; that also included a small block of cheese, but it'll do fine.

I tip toe down the hallway, careful not to wake my parents and shut the front door behind me. In the darkness of the stairwell I can hardly see anything, but as my eyes adjust I can see three figures leaning against the wall across. Two boys of equal height with equally insane curly hair, and one much taller figure on the edge. There's no doubt that its Atzi, Avi and Flinch. My boys, my best friends.

"Jeez Winters what took so long? We've been waiting here for an hour!" Atzi teases.

"Aww shut up Atz. We've only been here for at most five minutes." Avi scolds him, completely missing the point.

I peer past the twosome, who are now squabbling over who has to carry their bag, and over to the taller boy who's quietly inching closer to me. "Hey Flinch."

"Hey Ally." He smiles, and in the pale light I can see the scar that runs from his top lip right up to his forehead on the left side of his face. It's such a dark contrast to the rest of his pale freckled skin. Some people tsk and say that it's ugly, that it hinders his appearance, but I think it's kind of beautiful.

"Wait." He says, placing a hand on each of my hips and turning me this way and that, clucking his tongue. "Is that a new dress?"

"Oh this old thing? No, I've had it forever." I laugh. This, like the journey we are about to make to the top of the projector factory is another one of our little rituals. Back at that first reaping I'd bragged to Flinch about how when I was taller I was getting a better dress, and with each passing year he's never let me live it down.

"Come on you too, the sun will be up soon!" Atzi calls out, and I realize that he and his brother are almost halfway down the first set of stairs. Flinch smiles at me and shrugs, just as unsure as I am about how they disappeared so quickly, before grabbing hold of my hand and leading me off after them. His hand feels warm and soft against my own, and as we race after the other two boys I grip it a little tighter than necessary. Flinch has the kind of hands you never want to let go of.

Or maybe they are just the kind of hands only I'd never want to let go of.

**Flinch Lightwood, 17**

It takes us about five minutes to get from the apartment complex to the projector factory, and then another ten minutes to climb up onto its roof. We would've moved a lot faster, but Allius is a bit on the clumsy side and time to keep her from falling to certain death had to be taken into consideration. By the time we make it up there the sun is already beginning to peak up from the horizon.

We all huddle together on the same piece of tin we have for the past five years. I hastily pull the four chipped mugs out from under the tin sheet next to us and fill them with tea, before passing them around to the others. We brought them up the second year and left them, deciding that since we knew we'd be back the following reaping we might as well leave them behind. We each cup the mugs in our hands, the warmth heating up our palms in the cold morning air.

"It's lovely isn't it?" Allius muses, to no one in particular. I know the question was rhetoric, that she's not really looking for an answer, but I just can't help myself.

"Naah. I've seen something better than the sun this morning."

From the corner of my eye I can see her blushing, the light making her cheeks glow red and her blonde hair almost look like spun gold.

The suns definitely got nothing on her.

"Alright, its time guys! Atzi shouts, raising his mug out towards us as the great round orb finally frees itself from the edge of the world. "Happy Hunger Games!" Avi drawls sarcastically as we all clink our mugs together.

We divide the food up between us and start our 'Last supper', as Atzi likes to call it. From the rooftop you can see all the goings on in the city square, which is just a hundred or so metres away. The peacekeepers are already milling around, getting themselves into the usual positions around the male and female sections. Even with all the morning light the square looks gloomy and uninviting. Any other day it would share the light, but reaping day has a habit of casting a dark shroud over everything.

After a few hours of lounging around on the rooftop, talking about how many slips of paper we've got in the bowl, and whether we'll all be back next year it's time to head over to the reaping. In the time that's past the square behind us has almost reached half capacity and the Escort, a short round man with auburn hair called Jupiter is pacing back and forth beside the stage.

"That man really needs a haircut, his hairs half way down his waist now!" Atzi muses as he slides down the ladder, looking over at the square the whole time he does so. Allius follows behind him, but her eyes don't leave the rungs in front of her. Avi was the first to go down and I'm the last. "See you next year buddy." I say to the sun as I make my way disappear down the ladder. There is no way that I can be sure what I've just said is true, but for some reason it makes me feel a little less grim.

There is one thing I'm sure on though. I don't want this to be my last reaping.

**Allius Winters, 17**

The worst thing about reaping day is that I have to go and stand with a group of girls who I neither know nor feel comfortable around, while all three of my friends get to stand side by side, able to take a little bit of comfort in each other. I don't have that luxury. I'm left to deal with all the nerves and fear that reaping day brings on all on my lonesome.

After what feels like a million years of being trapped with only my own thoughts, which were slowly but surely being overtaken with the same fear that befalls me every reaping day, Jupiter waddles up to the microphone. I'm not over exaggerating when I say he waddled, because there is no better way to describe that walk. It's the walk of a goose, a very, very overweight goose.

"Hello District 3! You are all looking fine today!" His voice booms across the square, so loud that the speakers ring, causing the kids in the front row to clasp their hands across their ears. Realizing this he taps the microphone carefully, looking nervously over at a short skinny man who is presumably in charge of the reaping's technology. He makes a signal with his hands that's easy to understand in any language,_ tone it down. _Jupiter's face goes beet red.

"Err, technical difficulties apparently." He says, much quieter this time. There is no awful ringing noise mingled in with his voice, so feeling a tad more confident he presses on with the reaping.

We listen to him give a speech about the New President, an ambitious man of only 40 years, Mr Coriolanus Snow, before he presses on with the propo. _War terrible War._ I could recite the damn thing backwards in my sleep if someone asked me to. As tiresome as it is to watch though I always find myself not wanting it to end, because when it does that's when it all really begins.

Even with the relief that follows when your name isn't read out, there's this underlying feeling of disgust that festers in the pit of your chest and rises up into your chest in the days following, because you know someone else wasn't lucky like you, and when you see them up there on that stage, you already know they're dead. District 3 has very few victors.

"My oh my oh my my my!" Jupiter exclaims as the propo comes to an end, again setting the speaker off. This time his face doesn't flush bright red, in fact he hardly even seems to notice. He just carries on talking, albeit a little quieter. Not much though.

"Wasn't that just wonderful! I could watch it all day and all night, honestly I could." He says, beaming at the crowd, who remain as unresponsive as ever. "But we really don't have the time for a second viewing! Don't want it to get in the way main event!"

_Oh, but we do, _I think. As he announces that it's time to draw the 'lucky ladies' name from the bowl all the whispered conversations going on around me come to an instant halt. As he makes his way across to the bowls you can all but see the fear in the air, and despite the fact that I know it's wrong, that I should never think in this way I find my mind repeating over and over the same things it does at every reaping.

_Please, please, please don't let it be me, please, not me, please, anyone but me._

Jupiter's hand sinks in amongst the papers, rustling around, flicking the pretty pieces of paper against the glass wall as he does so.

_Anyone but me, please god, please._

Jupiter's awful fat fingers snatch a slip out and he holds it up in the air like a prize, his face shining with a kind of joy I can't understand, a kind that makes me want to throw up.

_Please. Not me._

"Our Female district for this year is…" He unfolds the paper, reads it for a fraction of a second, before looking back out at the crowd. "Allius Winters."

_Oh god. It's me._

**Flinch Lightwood, 17**

'_Allius Winters'_

The words, her name, they hit me in the stomach, knocking the wind right out of me. I gasp in pain, no, horror. Beside me Avi makes a kind of yelping noise, like an injured dog and Atzi's chin drops down to meet his chest, his mouth hanging open in disbelief.

The other girls step away from her quickly, all of them wanting to distance themselves from her as soon as possible. It's such an awful thing to see and it infuriates me. Not one of them offers her a kind word, or some friendly comfort, not one. Do they think if they stand near her they'll get reaped as well or something? Is that what it is? As they move further and further away from her, allowing a perfect pathway to the stage I find myself hating the reaping even more than usual. It doesn't just rip a person away from us. It takes our compassion and humanity away, for a few short hours.

Allius starts her walk sort of ok. She's visibly shaken and her face is frozen in fear, but in those initial moments she seems like she'll keep herself together. It's when she makes it to the walkway that she breaks down. Her face crumples up around itself and the tears start falling. To her credit though she doesn't make a sound. At least she's not a wailing mess like Elva Gratin was last year.

I think about how the boy from 9 slit Elva's throat with a knife during the bloodbath and how she didn't make a sound, how she died silently. The ridiculousness of what I'd just found comfort in hits me like a tonne of bricks. It doesn't matter that she's crying silently. Twenty three tributes die in those arenas, and the one that makes it out alive is never a soft sweet girl like Allius.

As Jupiter gives her a hand up the steps Avi taps me gently with his foot. "I can't bear it. She'll die Flinch."

My eyes stay on the shaking figure up on the stage as I reply, "No, that's not happening. Not on my watch. I'm going in with her." As the words leave my mouth even I'm surprised, but I know it's something I have to do. There is no way I'll be able to go back home knowing she's being carted off to the Capitol to die on National TV.

Avi looks at me in shock, goes to say something but then apparently decides against it. Instead he just smiles, a smile that's both painful and grateful all at once. Don't get me wrong, he'd volunteer to go in with her in a heartbeat, just like his brother would, but at the end of the day nobody wants to die. Besides, I'm the one that should be going in. I'll feel the loss of her worse than they ever would. She's my best friend, the closest companion I have in the world.

Maybe if things had gone differently today, we might've grown to care for each other a whole lot more.

Jupiter asks her a few questions and she splutters through both of them, her voice meek and terribly afraid. Not far to the right of me I can see Haze in the fifteen year old section, her face buried in the shoulder of another sullen faced girl. All of it makes me feel utterly helpless.

"Now for the boys!" Jupiter finally calls out and as he makes his way over towards the bowl I start to wonder whether or not I can do this, whether I'm ready to give my life up in order to prolong another's. This will be the hardest thing I've ever done and I'm in no way certain that I can actually do it. My legs are shaking, my heart is beating faster than a heart ever should.

Jupiter unfolds the piece of paper, his eyes skimming over the writing within. In that instant I find solace in the fact that by volunteering I'll be saving not one but two lives. Ally's and the boy whose name is on that slip.

That awful smile fills the Jupiter's round face as he reads out the name. "Flinch Lightwood."

_Flinch Lightwood._

My name, he read out my name.

Well, at least now I don't have to find the courage to put my hand up and volunteer.

* * *

**Well what do you think? is it alright? What do you think of Allius and Flinch? It was hard work rewriting this, and unfortunately I don't like it as much as my original copy (may it rest in peace in the recesses of my now also dead laptop's memory) but I don't think this chapter came out all too bad.  
**

**on another note, We are now one quarter of the way through the reapings! YAY! and after the next chapter We'll be a third of the way through!**

**GET EXCITED!**


	5. District 4 Reaping

**Woohoo! we are 1/4 of the way through the reapings! **

**I would have gotten this up earlier but my copies of The Scorch Trials and The Death Cure arrived in the mail, and I think I lost a day and a half reading those, BUT IT WAS TIME WELL SPENT! Seriously if you haven't read The Maze Runner series yet you've got to do it! It is aMAZEing.**

**It will cause you emotional pain unlike anything you've read has before, but it's still aMAZEing.**

**yes I know there is no e in amazing but shhhh**

**Anywho, for those of you who've read that series, there's a little reference to it in the story.**

**for those of you who haven't...I'm sorry!**

**anyway what are you waiting for? GET READING!**

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**Brynn Halee, 17**

"Go on Brynn, you can go home now"

"Come on, you can't sort all these fish yourself now can you? You need me here" I reply to David, my voice straining as I pick up an especially heavy crate of tuna. David laughs at my struggling and snatches the crate playfully from my hands in a way that makes it look as though it weighs nothing at all.

"Lassy even though those strong arm muscles of yours are a constant help around here I don't think you really want to be heading to the reaping reeking like a school of fish."

"I hear that scent is all the rage in the Capitol right now, they're calling it Eau de fish."

A smile spreads across his face that makes his already wrinkled eyes crinkle even more. "Be that as it may I can handle these slimy little buggers. Anyway it's Kaylee's first reaping, am I right?"

And there it is, the subject I'd come to work this early and on my day off especially to avoid. "Yeah, it is."

"Well now, I imagine that sweet young thing is going to need her sister's help getting ready this morning isn't she?" he says, pushing me towards the shop door.

"She's not sweet Davey!" I laugh.

"No, she's a right little devil but that's why you love her isn't it just?"

All I can do is smile widely in return because it's the truth; I love that little rascal with all my heart.

"Thought so." He says as he drops the crate on the bench top. "Now you go home already will you?"

"Alright alright, I'm going."

The journey from David's store to my home isn't a very long one, but today it takes a little longer than usual because I can't go through the town square due to all the pre-reaping set up. When I eventually get home I'm not at all surprised to see that dad hasn't bothered to pull up the blinds. I make a mental note to do that after I see to Kaylee. We have a nice enough house after all; it deserves to see some of the morning's sunlight.

I trudge through the narrow hallway and into the kitchen where Kaylee is busily fussy over what appears to be a pan of scrambled eggs. I lean over her shoulder and take the spatula from her hand.

"If you don't move them around enough they'll be ruined you know." I tell her, not having the heart to admit that they are already way past gone.

"I know that." she whines back at me, huffing out her chest. Her nose wrinkles up as she turns to face me. "God you stink."

"I'm going to have a bath and before you know it I'll be clean as a whistle."

"whoever said whistles were clean?"

"Well I don't know but I'm sticking with that ok?" I push a pile of the scrambled eggs onto the pieces of toast she's got buttered on the bench. "You eat that up and don't be afraid to go for seconds."

"Don't you want some too Brynn?" she calls out to me as I leave the room.

"Nah you have em" I say, "Special first reaping treat."

To get to the bathroom I have to go through the living room and that's where I find my father. He's sitting in his favorite chair, his dressing gown wrapped tightly around his waist, staring into nothing. Even from the doorway I can smell the body odour and just down right sweat clinging to him. Surprise surprise, he hasn't had a bath in a while.

"I'm going to leave the water in the bath so you can have one, ok?" I say to him as I open the blinds. The morning light stripping the room of its darkness should be more than enough to snap him out of his stupor, but it doesn't. Instead he just mumbles "mmmhm" in reply, his eyes still glazed over and pointed at the wall.

I wish every day that he acted like this because of alcohol, or even morphling. If it was something like that I'd be able to put a stop to it. I could force him to give it up, cut off his supply and his money. The thing that plagues him is something I can't manage though. He's been like this for nearly eight years, ever since my mother's heart attack. After years of trying unsuccessfully to pull him out of the pit of pain he's fallen into I finally worked out what it was I needed to get him out of his awful depression. Unfortunately bringing my mother back from the dead isn't an option.

I ruffle the hair on his head affectionately as I leave the room for the bathroom, trying not to choke up with tears as I think of how he doesn't even register it happening.

**Grant Green, 13**

Since my Grandpa past away last year and my Grandma moved in with us, I've been woken up every morning to the sound of her snoring. Even today, the day of the reaping, is no exception.

As my eyes pry themselves open I try to bring myself up into a sitting position but instead find that there's a weight pressing down on my chest, making it momentarily hard to move. As the last tendrils of sleep lift away from me I'm able to make out the faint shape of what I can only assume is my younger sister Haley's head.

"What are you doing?" I ask her, pushing her off to the side of me. She gasps and looks up at me forlornly. "I had a bad dream."

"Well why didn't you crawl into bed with Grandma?"

"Because she snores."

I can't help but smile a little at that. "That's a terrible excuse. I can hear her snoring right now, wouldn't be any different beside her."

"Well I like you better than her alright?"

"Fine. Time to get up anyway." I say, peeling the sheets back and planting my feet on the cold floor. Haley shuffles out as well and stands alongside me, her hands wrapped tightly around herself, shivering.

"Do you think Grandma's gonna die soon?" She asks, her dark eyes, a family trait of ours, looking up at me all worried like. "Is she gonna die like Grandpa?"

I sigh and look over at the old woman tangled up in the sheets across from us. Her snores are raspy, like there's something rattling around in her chest and throat that desperately wants to get out. Her face is a mess of wrinkles and I know all too well that the skin on her hands feels like thin paper. According to our mother she'd once been a very beautiful woman and it pains me to think that she's been reduced to this; a shrivelled wheezing husk of her former self.

"Nah, I don't think so." I lie, knowing that the truth would only upset Haley.

Her face lights up and the worry in her eyes disappears. " Good. I'm gonna go wake momma up now," she says before skipping out of the room, her little feet pounding hard on the wooden floors. She's so young, so full of life. I can't help but think about how one day that youth will be snatched away from her, about how the carefree child will turn into a withered old woman and I find myself filled with that awful sadness I never can seem to shake.

The thought that she might instead be left frozen in youth one day by the games makes me feel even worse.

"You up Grant?" I hear my brother say from across the room. It's a pointless question, he can already see me standing beside my bed, clearly awake, but I suppose he's still groggy with sleep so I decide to humor him. "No Jason."

"Oh shut up you." He sits himself up right and glances over at our grandma. "Seriously, how does she not wake herself up snoring that loud?"

"I don't know, she's deaf I suppose." I pause for a moment, watching how peaceful she looks even with the awful noise that she's producing. "Sometimes I wish I could just shut the world out like that, Just sleep my way through everything, shut it all out."

"Don't be morbid like that so early in the morning." Jason says, his face morphing into a scowl.

"I wasn't being morbid."

"Oh yes you were Grant. Don't think I don't know what you really meant by that."

I sigh and walk over to the dresser, my back turned to him. "I honestly didn't mean it like that. Not today anyway. Sometimes I just think it would be nice to sleep a bit easier."

I can tell from the way he lets his breath rush out that he's unconvinced and unhappy with me. I'm ready and waiting for him to say something else but nothing comes. Instead I hear the springs in his bed creak as he lifts himself out of it and then he's beside me, rummaging through the drawer we keep our clothes in.

"Wear this shirt." He says, pulling a pale yellow thing out. I screw up my nose, look at him incredulously.

"That one? It's yellow….. it's like a lemon!"

"He pushes it into my hand and sighs while pulling out a blue shirt for himself. "Yellow is a happy colour. You're already miserable enough in general, so I figure you might as well wear something that'll balance it all out, just in case the reaping makes you feel all sad and moody like it usually does."

"Fair enough. Why do you get to wear blue?"

"Because blue is calming, and the reaping makes me jittery as hell."

"Where are you getting this information from?" I ask him and he laughs, pulling his own shirt over the top of the singlet he just slept in. "The one that snores of course. Honestly I'm doubtful that the colours actually do anything at all, but I figure hey, might as well try it out."

"You're a strange kid Jason."

"Not nearly as strange as you."

**Brynn Halee, 17**

I hate the reapings. I don't know what it's like in the other districts, but I've got a feeling they don't have quite the same feel as 4's does. You see we're considered something of a Career District, much like 1 and 2. Except unlike those districts, where it's almost a given thing that they'll have someone step up and volunteer, here in 4 that only happens half of the time. So we not only have the awful nervous build-up of the initial tribute announcement to go through, we also have a second round of nerves to deal with; wondering whether someone is going to step up and volunteer for the poor shuck who's names been read out. It's all a bit emotionally exhausting to be honest.

"Mira get off the walk way will you!" Maddy, my best friend, calls out to her sister whose busy talking to a boy in the eighteen year old section. Mira turns around, her face beet red and absolutely furious before making a considerably obscene hand gesture and turning back to talk with her current man of the moment. Maddy makes a sort of snarling noise and turns towards me. "Honestly if the peacekeepers have to escort her to the fifteen year old section I'll kill her. Last year was embarrassing enough."

"Oh come on, it wasn't that bad."

"Laurie gave me hell about it for a week."

"Only a week." I crane my neck to get a good look at who it is Mira is talking to but I can't see past the sea of faces in front of me. "Whose she got her eye on this time?"

Maddy rolls her eyes. "Some Odair guy. Scary thing is this time the boy actually seems interested."

"Don't worry, Mira's a good girl." I say, but Maddy is too busy sending abusive gestures and glares in her sister's direction to hear me.

In the end Mira gets to her section without the need of an Escort and Maddy is able to relax a little. The reaping starts much the same as it always has, With Castel making his way up onto the stage with his cane and then making a slew of jokes about how he's still got a few good reaping's left in him yet. The guy was our district's Escort way back when my mother was reaped and she reckons he was old even then.

"Ladies first!" Castel croaks through the microphone once the propo is over, wasting no time gushing about the Capitol's greatness like the Escort's in other districts do. That' the best thing about Castel, he gets straight down to business.

It's an eerie sort of silence that falls over the crowd before he reads the name out. It's like every single person is holding their breath and you can feel the effort it's taking them to hold it in amongst all the air around you, like an awful kind of pressure. It gets so quiet sometimes that I swear I can hear Maddy's heart beating as she stands beside me, as well as my own.

Castel flips the slip around in his hand, struggling to get the paper open. The wait is tedious and only adds to the awful atmosphere surrounding us. Maddy squeezes my hand, which she's been holding since the end of the propo, her face as white as a sheet of paper. I squeeze it back hard. "We'll be fine" I whisper under my breath, which breaks the silence around us. A faint smile breaks at the corner of her mouth.

Castel finally manages to pull apart the tape and reads over the name, before looking out at the audience, his wrinkled face beaming. "Brynn Halee!"

It takes me a few second's to realize he's just said my name.

**Grant Green, 13**

A girl emerges from the 17 year old section, her head held high and her eyes glued to the stage ahead of her. I know her from somewhere, but at first I'm unable to place her. She's got brown hair and sea green eyes like a lot of the people in this district and I'm absolutely awful at remembering faces. Still, there is something familiar about her, I'm sure of it.

"Well don't you look lovely my dear!" Castel exclaims, running his hands down her shoulders. He turns her to face the crowd, or more likely a camera, you never really can be sure what it is this guy is trying to do. "Anyone want to volunteer for this lovely lady?"

A few girls in the past have cried their eyes out when no one puts their hand up for them, but this Brynn girl apparently isn't one of those. When no one offers to take her place she just shrugs and says with a laugh, "Tough crowd today hey?"

Her voice finally fills the gap in my memory and I remember where I know her from. I might not be good with faces, but it seems I've got a great memory for voices. She works at the fish store around the corner from the square. My mother often goes there to buy fish for special occasions and she's always served us with a big smile on her face. It's such a shame and it makes me wish I didn't recognize her.

"I guess it's time for the boys then, hmmm?" Castel croaks, leaning heavily on his cane as he walks to the bowl._ Doesn't look like he's got many more reapings left in him, I think, _while also wondering when it will be that he dies and whether anyone will care. For a brief moment I find myself envying him for his closeness to death, to what I'd consider an escape, but I pull myself back from thoughts like that. I don't want to die, not really. Just sometimes I wonder if it's any better on the other side.

My guess is it's probably not.

Castel manages to get the tape off the paper much quicker this time, and there is a collective sigh of relief from half the crowd. His face scrunches up into a wide smile as he reads the name and for a moment I find myself worrying that his eyes will get lost in amongst all those wrinkles.

"Jason Green!" his voice rasps over the speakers.

I feel my heart plummet down to about my ankles, or at least that's what it feels like. Besides me my brother is trembling and I can see him biting his bottom lip, desperately trying not to cry. He walks shakily out to the walk way and up onto the stage and for the whole time I find myself fighting back the urge to run out and stop him.

"Well now, any volunteers for this fine young boy?" Castel asks the crowd and I can't help but be disgusted by his tone of voice. It's almost like he's auctioning something and asking if anyone would like to make a bid on it. All the while Jason stands silently beside him, ringing one of the sleeves on his blue shirt in his hands. It's seeing him do that, seeing how terrified and shocked into silence my usually loud, happy brother is that makes me do it.

"I volunteer! I shout out, so loud that one of the boys in front of me jumps in fright. On the stage I see my brother's face crumple up in pain and he starts shaking his head at me, big fat tears beginning to fall over the edges of his eyelids. Looking at him is making me feel awful so I focus my eyes on Castel instead, counting the buttons on his purple and green suit as I make my way up onto the stage. I can hear my brother screaming my name as the peacekeepers drag him past me, feel his hand try to grab hold of my arm. My heart twists inside my chest and I have to hold my breath so I don't cry as I climb the steps onto the stage.

"Now I don't know about you Brynn but I'm seeing double!" Castel exclaims as I'm pulled up alongside him. "Am I right in assuming you're that boy's twin?"

I swallow a lump in my throat and move toward the microphone nervously. "Yes."

"Excellent!" he exclaims, rubbing his hands together. "What might your first name be Mr Green?"

"Grant. My name is Grant Green."

"Nice very nice! Well, here you go folks, may I present to you the tributes for District 4, Brynn Halee and Grant Green!" he turns to the two of us, eyes shining with obvious enjoyment. "Shake hands you two!"

Brynn's hand extends towards mine and as she shakes it she leans forward, a weak smile only just noticeable on her face.

"Nice shirt." She says.

"Thanks. It's my brothers." Is all I manage to reply, before Castel separates us and we are escorted through the doors of the Justice Building. It's only when those doors close behind me that the enormity of what I've just gotten myself into hits home. I've just volunteered for The Hunger Games and odds are I'm going to die. I know my family will all be thinking the same thing, that me doing this is just a sneaky way to end my life, but it's not. I don't want to die and I know now more than ever that's the truth.

It's just that I couldn't face going home without him.

* * *

**Well what did you think? I had a lot of fun with both these guys, especially Grant, he was a bit of a challenge to write but I do like a challenge XD **

**What do you think of the two of them? Do you think they'll be able to fit in with the other 'career kids'?**

**on that note, I'm also interested to know who everyone's favorite is so far, it's been an interesting lot of tributes in this first quarter hehe.**

**Oh I almost forgot! if you haven't read The Maze Runner yet (yet, because you will) the reference was the word 'shuck'.**

**Anyway all silly stuff aside, (I am feeling especially silly today I apologize) I'd just like to say a big thank you to the people who've reviewed so far, because reviews make me happy and you're all just too sweet :D**


	6. District 5 Reaping

**Wow, this is an especially fast update for me, I'm actually quite proud of myself, yay!**

**I won't hold you up with my ramblings at the start of the chapter, I'll leave all that till the end!**

**Read on my pretties, read on!**

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**Jane Rooke, 18**

_Dear Jason,_

The ink refuses to come out of the pen for the next sentence so I scribble against the right side. At first nothing comes out and all I'm doing is leaving scratchy indents in the paper, but after a little while the ink finally comes through, leaving intertwining loops of blue across the newly scarred paper. Much better.

_I might as well just come right out with it instead of going over all the other mundane things I usually do. Today's the day of the reaping. It's both a first and a last for me, it's my last one ever and well, it's the first one without you._

My chest constricts as I write the last word in the sentence and I have to stop writing for a moment. I will not cry today. I've never cried on any other reaping days and this will be no different. Breathing out heavily, I lift the pen back up off the paper and write the last few sentences, each word another reminder that he's gone.

_I miss you a lot you know._

_Love Jane._

That's all I can bring myself to write today, but, it's more than enough. As long as I write something once a day it's always enough. Some days I just write a few sentences, other days it's like I'm penning a novel in amongst the pages. All because of that one dream.

My mother says it's ridiculous of course, that just because I had a dream about Jason and he told me I had to write in the diary everyday or I'd die doesn't make it mean anything. She always goes on about how plenty of people have strange dreams like that after someone they love dies, or do strange things. "It's all part of the grieving process."

Apparently I'm still in stage one: denial. Well I find that kind of funny, because I'm not denying anything. I know Jason is dead. I've seen what's left of his house; I saw the peacekeepers carrying the bodies away from the charred scene in the dark bags. I know all too well that he's dead. What I'm going through now is probably more applicable for stage two: pain, or maybe stage four: depression. Honestly I'm a bit unsure on the whole set stages thing. I think you can feel almost all of those things all at once. I sure do.

"Jane, can you come zip me up?" I hear my sister call from down the hall. I snap the diary shut and push it under my pillow, then think better of it and tuck it inside the front pocket of my dress. It's only a little thing, but it was the prettiest one in the shop according to Jason, he just had to get it for me. The memory of that exchange only makes me feel worse, so I try to push it away and go to my sister.

Ellie is standing in front of our mother's mirror, her hands failing bitterly to get a hold on the back of the black dress she's wearing, my black dress actually. I frown.

"That's my dress."

"I know. That's exactly why I'm wearing it."

I sigh and begin to zip her up. "I wasn't going to wear it today, if that's why you've decided to wear it. I stopped dressing in black for mourning ages ago, remember, to stop mum from worrying so much?"

"She still worries an awful lot, we all do." The zip finally goes all the way up and I can see her smile as the dress finally curves around her body. It's funny how alike in some ways we look. We've got the same long brown hair, the same gold flecked brown eyes, a gift given to us by our father, who ran off with the butcher's daughter's while Ellie was still a baby. There are a few differences however. Ellie's face is wider and her figure fuller, a smile almost always decorating her fine features. I'm far too skinny and my face is beginning to look slightly gaunt. According to Ellie I'm still pretty, but sometimes I wonder if she's just saying that because she has to.

She turns around to face me, pulling me into a hug. "I just want you to be happy again ok? I want my Janie back."

I want to tell her that she will, but I can't, not right now, so instead I just hug her back, burying my face against her shoulder. After a couple of seconds she pulls away and points at a small pile of dresses on the end of our mother's bed, her eyes shining brightly. "That's every dress in the house Janie, take your pick!"

There's a lovely blue dress with long sleeves on the top, as well as a dull grey sundress and a moth eaten looking brown thing. I almost decide to go with the grey one until something underneath it catches my eye. It's a lovely cream sort of play dress with a pattern of tiny yellow and purple wildflowers all over it. I think it might be an old one of mine, but it's been ages since I've worn anything this pretty and my memory can't seem to place it.

From the corner of my eye I see Ellie's whole face light up. "I was hoping you'd pick that one! Try it on Jane, please?"

For a moment I consider doing it, for a moment I think about how nice it would look on me, or more importantly how nice I'd look wearing it. Then my hand moves to the red leather bound book in my pocket and all thoughts about wearing this dress immediately disappear. It doesn't have any pockets.

"I think I'll just wear the one I've got on." I say quickly, before dropping the dress back onto the pile.

"Jane please just…" Ellie starts, but I'm already half way down the hall and out of ear shot before I can hear the last few words.

**Lewis Natbotch, 15**

This is the first reaping that my grandmother isn't escorting me to and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous. Nervous is probably an understatement, my legs are shaking so hard I'm worried my belt won't be able to keep my pants up. If it wasn't for Percy agreeing to meet me on his way this morning I don't know what I would have done.

After a few more minutes sitting on the edge of the gutter, looking around nervously I finally see Percy appear from the lane way across the street. He's a heavyset sort of boy with an awful haircut, and the plaid shirt he's wearing today doesn't at all help his appearance. Judging by the way he's shifting around uncomfortably in it I think he's aware of that.

I stand up and make my way over to him. He smiles at me, the grin showing off the missing tooth in the front.

"What happened to your tooth?" I holler at him as I get closer. His mouth snaps shut almost instantly and his hand reaches up to cover it.

"Damn, forgot about that. Take one guess."

"Spatch Adams?"

"almost." He laughs awkwardly. "Spatch held me down. It was Gus that did the damage."

I can't help but scowl. The two Adams brothers have been giving kids like me and Percy grief for as long as I can remember. I realize that I haven't seen them at all today which makes me even more worried about the day ahead. "Have you seen them yet?" I ask Percy, feeling my forehead break out in a nervous sweat.

Percy shakes his head. "Nah, not at all, but Louisa did say she saw them leaving their house about an hour ago. Nice girl that cousin of mine, always keeping her eye out for me."

I can't help but blush at the mention of Louisa and decide that the best thing to do would be to change the subject. "Well we better get a move on then, don't want to stand around waiting for them to get us. Are you nervous about the reaping?"

"Of course I am, who isn't?" he replies, but also takes the hint and starts walking. I feel kind of stupid for asking such a pointless question so I just kind of nod in agreement and the two of us walk most of the way in silence after that. I don't really mind. I'm a shy kind of kid and I don't often find silences awkward. I actually kind of prefer them.

By the time we get to the town square only half the people have arrived and the fifteen year old male section has no more than five boys waiting in amongst the ropes. This is great for Percy and I, it means we'll be able to stand wherever we want. Every other year we've always ended up crammed in beside Colly Frank, a huge kid that lives in the same neighbourhood as us that has the most repugnant body odour I've ever had the chance to smell. There'll be no Colly Frank today, no sireee. Even though it's not even that big a deal and everything basically is the same; we'll still be in the same section, still be with the same people, I can't help but feel a little better about it all.

"Wanna just head to the middle of the section with Homer and Leo?" Percy says, just about reading my thoughts.

"Sounds good. Great actually." I say, nodding perhaps too enthusiastically.

We make our way over to the other boys and make small talk. Percy has a few classes with Leo and I've worked a couple of shifts after school hours with Homer in one of the power plants so we have a few things to talk about, enough for it not to end up awkward, or for me to just shrink away from the conversation while Percy desperately tries to save it. I have a habit of doing that sometimes. It can be awfully embarrassing.

"Well looky what we have here!" an all too familiar voice booms to the left of us, the very sound of it making my skin crawl. "Look at these losers standing in our spot!"

I don't even need to turn around to work out whose voice it is, I'd know that voice anywhere.

Gus Adams.

Suddenly the thought of having to deal with Colly Scott's horrendous body odour seems like a walk in the park.

**Jane Rooke, 18**

Being at the reaping is so much worse than what I thought it would be. It's even worse than school. At least there I can disappear during lunch break or sit at a desk in the far corner of the room, away from all the other people. Right now I'm crammed inline shoulder to shoulder with a bunch girls who either can't stop talking or can't stop staring at me. I can hear Deb Patley whispering about how gorgeous Landon Grenwahl is to Marcy Gusher and Abigail Morning is whining about how baggy her dress is to a girl I can't quite place. As irritating as their mundane chatter is I much prefer it to the looks I'm getting from Tabby and Airley. Once upon a time those girls were my closest friends, the people I could confide in about anything. We used to sit and talk about all kinds of things, everything from the boys we were dating to the dresses we wish we could have owned. Then Jason died. Suddenly I couldn't bear talking about those kinds of things anymore and slowly but surely I drifted away from my friends. It doesn't worry me really. I've got my diary. That's all I need.

Aside from all that awkwardness he reaping actually goes by pretty quickly. I'd been worried that it would just be another place dredging up painful memories of Jason but that's not the case. There are actually very few memories of him floating around here and that's kind of nice. I suppose that's because we've always been separated during the reapings and have then done things with our families afterwards.

Still, I'd have given anything for him to walk me to my section and kiss my forehead like he used to. I picture those memories perfectly. The dark hair covering steely blue eyes, the coy crooked smile, the weight of his hand on my right shoulder and the feeling of the left clasping tightly to my own. Yes, that would be nice.

It's not until the propo ends that I'm pulled out of my memories. The escort –I never can remember her name- is prattling on and on about how she's heard this year's games are going to be even more exciting than ever. A few of the girls around me twitch uncomfortably at that. The current Game maker, Viridian Klaus is a rather queer man with a taste for all things fantastical. Last year's arena was some strange place with overgrown mushrooms and giant caterpillars that breathed out toxic gas. I can't recall who the winner was, Jason died three days before the finale, but I do remember my mother saying whoever thought up the arena must have been on a bad morphling trip at the time.

"Well now my lovelies, the time has come to pick one extraordinary young girl for the games!" the woman calls out, her voice scratchy like a parrots. Sound leaves the square so fast and so completely that the sound of the woman's heels tapping away on the wooden boards is almost deafening.

_Tap, tap, tap, tappity tap._

She giggles and grins at the audience the whole time her hand is fishing around for a slip in the bowl and while every other person in the square is surely filled with absolute hate for her in this moment, all I can think of is how the green eye shadow she's wearing reminds me of the field where Jason gave me the diary, and the ring.

Oh yes, the ring. My hand automatically curls around the gold band I wear on one of the other's fingers. It's only got the tiniest ruby red gemstone in it, but I loved it all the same.

"Jane Rooke!"

The pleasant memory disappears from my mind, and all the good feelings go with it. Did she really just read out my name? surely not…I've written in the diary every day. Jason promised I'd be safe if I did that.

"Jane Rooke? Are you out there Jane?"

No, there is no mistaking it. I might be a bit on the mad side of things, but I'm sane enough to know when something is really happening or whether it's a part of my imagination. Right now, that woman reading out my name is very, very real.

The girls surrounding me begin to move away, leaving me alone in my own patch of dirt and it's immediately obvious to the woman on stage that I'm the girl she's looking for. A wide smile spreads across her grotesquely painted lips and she gestures towards me, beckoning me to come up like a dog.

"Come on, come on Jane."

A part of me knows I should make my way up there but I just can't. My feet are stuck to the ground. Instead I just stand still and stare directly at her, all too aware that my face right now must be absolutely priceless.

When it becomes obvious that I'm unable to make it onstage by myself a pair of peacekeepers push their way through the crowd and grab hold of me, one on each arm. My feet finally give up their hard stance and walk with the men out from amongst my peers and up onto the stage. When their arms let go of me the Escort's hand reaches out to steady me, obviously worried I might collapse into a heap and it's surprising how grateful I am for the gesture.

"Well now, are you ok my dear?" She asks, her ochre eyes looking into mine with a kindness I had not expected. I try to swallow but my throat feels like sandpaper.

"This…wasn't supposed to happen." Is all I manage to croak. She shocks me once again by giving me a brisk hug.

"Oh sweet girl, don't be so down, It's an honor to represent your district!"

All I can do is nod a reply, too scared that if I open my mouth I'll start to cry. I can't begin to explain how relieved I am when she announces it's time to pick out the boy instead of trying to continue a conversation with me.

After a few tedious seconds of paper swishing she finally pulls out a slip and reads the boy's name out.

"Lewis Natbotch!"

Nothing happens at first, the crowd is still, all their faces slightly confused. Then suddenly, right in the heart of the fifteen year old boys section one of the Adam's boys shoves a boy so hard in the back that he falls face first into the dirt.

If that's the Natbotch boy, I can't help but feel extremely sorry for him.

**Lewis Natbotch, 15**

The dirt and dust in the square went straight up my nostrils as I hit the floor, making me cough and splutter against the hard ground. Even though it was an awful thing to do I'm almost thankful Gus pushed me like this. It's given me a few moments longer to collect myself. I don't want to have to be escorted on stage like that Jane girl, and if Gus's shove hadn't forced me out of the shocked stupor I was in I probably would have had to.

I stand up as quick as I can and brush the dirt from my pants, pinching my thigh in the process. It hurts, but it's what I need to keep me on task. I can't cry, not today, not even after that, especially not after that.

Surprisingly It actually works. My legs hardly shake at all as I make my way up onto the stage. Kippy, the Escort bops me on the nose with one of her hands. "Oh my, look at all that dirt on your face! You already look like you're in the games!" She says, turning me to face the crowd. "It took guts to come up here as calm as you have after that! Why, most kids would have ended up a blubbering mess!"

I realize what she's doing, she's trying to endear me to the public already, just like she did with Jane before, although it's arguable whether that helped her case. I'm suddenly glad that I've got an Escort as good as this and decide to try and at least help her out, if I can. It's hard though, the crowd is so large and I'm so shy.

I take a deep breath and turn to face Kippy instead of the crowd. "Well, I'm kind of used to stuff like that."

"Well hopefully that'll mean you'll do well in the games!" She giggles, pulling me into a hug like she did before with Jane. I highly doubt my being mercilessly bullied on a daily basis will help me at all during the games, but any help right now is good help and I'm definitely not going to challenge her on the matter.

From the corner of my eye I can see Jane fidgeting with something in her pocket, her face partially hidden by her long thick hair. I can't help but feel a pang of sorrow for her. Her reaping couldn't have gone much worse. Sure I might have literally eaten dirt, but at least I didn't have to be dragged up onstage by a bunch of peacekeepers. I'm sure the people in the Capitol are already writing her off as a bloodbath.

Then again, they are probably thinking much the same about me. A skinny kid with teeth like mine isn't going to attract too many sponsors.

Kippy reaches over towards Jane and drapes an arm around her shoulder, doing much the same with me. "Ladies and Gentlemen may I present to you the fine young tributes from District 5, Jane Rooke and Lewis Natbotch!"

A few people clap, but not many. It doesn't really matter anyway, that sentence was more for the people in the Capitol's sake than anyone else's. It's those people who'll be placing bets on our lives, sending us gifts in the arena, praying for some of us to live while others die.

The thought of having to spend what could possibly be the last weeks of my life in the company of people like that makes my heart clench hard in my chest.

The Adams brothers are the least of my problems now.

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**Well now, might I just say we have a pair of very different tributes here. Seriously sad Jane and the shy guy Lewis. What did you think of these two tributes? **

**Also, seeing as Jane has the whole diary thing going on, there will be a small entry from it in most of her POVs I think. Maybe she'll do a whole POV from a diary entry sometime in the future, who knows!**

**Anyways, I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter, and all lovely people who leave a review will get ummm...err...a virtual cookie.**

**From Peeta.**

**yep, I'm gonna go with that!**

**P.S- I've been seriously neglecting one of my other stories "Hey Finn" to find time writing these reapings, so I'm going to try and update that before I write the next reaping for this. My apologies, I promise it won't take long.**


	7. District 6 Reaping

**Woohoo! we are now half way through the reapings!**

**I'll leave the rest of my rambling for the end of the chapter, as always.**

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**Russel Darcy, 14**

My house isn't all that far from the wrecking yards, or as the kids in district six have nicknamed it, 'The Train Graveyard". All the trains that break down or start playing up pretty much always wind up here, where they are taken apart by men who live in the surrounding area, my father being one of them. It's my favorite place to take Leon, my best friend. His dad is the local cobbler and he doesn't often get to see much of the working class side of life, so our visits to the graveyard are always something he really enjoys.

"Russ, your mother makes the best sandwiches, I swear to god." He mumbles through a mouthful of bread.

"They're no different to the ones your ma makes." I reply, dropping a stone down into a pool of water that's formed at the base of the train we're sitting on. It skitters across the puddle before disappearing into a tuft of grass, leaving an angry trail of rippling water in its wake.

"Did you hear what I just said?" Leon says, his voice pushing through the trance like state I hadn't even realized I was in. I shake my head, feeling slightly embarrassed by my momentary lapse in consciousness.

"No, sorry….What'd you say?

He sighs and pulls himself up, stretchy his long arms high above his head. "I said we better get back to my house or my sister will kill us."

"Oh, of course," I say pushing myself down over the edge of the train onto the ground. My feet land hard in the puddle and the water splashes up all over my shoes and socks. "Aww jeez, ma is gonna kill me for that. These socks were new."

Leon laughs as he thumps down beside me, spraying even more of the muddy mixture over both our feet. "Don't worry about it Russ, I should have a spare pair you can have."

"I don't think I can…" I start but he cuts me off mid-way through.

"No nope uh-uh. You'll take the socks and your mother will never know the wiser. Anyway, my dad owns a shoe shop for crying out loud, we've got enough socks to crash a hovercraft."

I laugh at that and he smiles. "Alright so it's agreed, you'll take the socks. Now let's get out of here."

District 6 isn't one of those districts where the citizens live comfortable existences. It's a rather small place and seeing as it only really focuses on transportation there isn't an awful lot going around in the way of jobs. My uncle Martin once joked at the dinner table that the Capitol must sometimes wish they could trade the tributes from their 'favorite little pet' district 2 for a couple more kids from 6. My aunt started talking in a real high pitched voice and telling him to be quiet, but he just kept on going, saying things like "Well it'd be a few less mouths for this place to worry about." And "At least the poor things would get fed for a bit in the Capitol before they sent them to be cut to pieces." A couple of weeks later Uncle Martin just completely disappeared. My parents told me he'd been given a job at the station in district seven, and for years we never talked about him again. I went on believing that for another three whole years before I was telling Leon about him. "Ain't nobody ever get a job in another district Russ." Leon had said after I'd told him all about it, my voice filled with such incredible pride. "You're Uncle got taken away by the Capitol, no doubt about it."

"You mean he was that good they wanted him at the Capitol Station?" I'd asked him, confused by what he was trying to say. Leon's face had softened up, and he'd just said,

"Yeah Russ, something like that."

It took me another few years to realize he was just saying all that to placate me.

Anyway, enough about Martin. The point of the whole matter is that he was right about one thing. People in District 6 are perhaps a little bit hungrier than most. Maybe not as much as the likes of 12, or 11, even 9, but it's not in the least bit surprising to see an emaciated body lying still in the alley ways with not an ounce of breath left in their lungs. When I was little I used to think they were just sleeping, people who'd gotten tired on the way home and just decided to take a nap. I know better than that now though. Once you see someone lying face down in the middle of the road on the coldest day in winter things sort of make a lot more sense.

There are no bodies hiding in the alleyways or the gutters today. As Leon and I make our way through the cobblestone roads in the more central parts of town everything looks clean and tidy. Not that that's much of a surprise, the Capitol tends to give these parts in town a bit of a clean-up on the day of the reaping. For establishing shots and scenery pieces or something, I'm not quite sure.

There is however one man leaning against the Apothecary that looks out of place in amongst all the cleanliness. He's got long scraggy brown hair and his clothes are badly stained with dirt and oil. Arbie Peet, the resident homeless man of March Street. I sometimes give him a little bit of bread or some loose change and we've become friendly, in a way.

"Hey there Russell my boy!" he calls out, waving his arms in my direction.

Leon groans and grabs hold of my arm, stopping me before I can wave back. "Not today Russell, we need to get back to mine."

"Aww come on Leon, it'll just take I second."

"The guy doesn't need your money, you need your money. He's only gonna spend it on Morphling anyway."

"As if. He's just hungry is all." I reply, though I can feel a few seeds of doubt beginning to spread in my mind.

Leon sighs, his shoulders slouching heavily around themselves as he does so. "You've got a good heart Russ, really you do, but sometimes you're head's a little thick."

"So you keep telling me." I exhale, glad that his hand is no longer holding fast to my arm. I take this brief moment of freedom to inch a little closer to the still waving Arbie. "Come on, just let me give him the rest of my sandwich."

"Fine, I'll go have a look over in the bakery window while I wait." He replies. We part quickly, he heading in the opposing direction and I make my way over to the man by the apothecary.

"Bring me any loose change today?" Arbie says as I get closer to him and for the first time I notice that his skin is a little bit more yellow than it should be. _Maybe Leon is right, maybe he is just a _morphling_ addict._

"Sorry Arbie," I start, rummaging around in my pocket for the other half of my sandwich. "I do have part of a sandwich if you're hungry."

"Why thank you boy." He says, his face curling up into a smile, but I can see the faintest signs of disappointment in his hazy looking eyes. Leon's words about the morphling flicker back through my mind but I decide to push them out. It's not my business either way. All I need to worry about is making sure the poor guy doesn't end up like one of the dead people curled up around themselves in the gutter.

Its only when I get back to Leon's house that I realize my little donations every now and again might be helping him realize that fate.

**Katie Chandler, 12**

I try my best to avoid the other children in the home on the day of the reaping. They're all so terrified; Some of them are crying, their faces all blotchy and red, others hug each other and ramble on about how everything is going to be ok, pacifying each other with words that have become some kind of security blanket for the kids here. It's all a bit too pathetic for my liking and while I might be able to play the role of the sad, scared orphan girl every other day, I just can't bring myself to do it come reaping day. It's pitiful.

"Hey Katie! Katie! What are you doing!?" I hear a voice call from across the yard. I know that nasal voice very well, its little Elsbeth Miller. Her mother was a 'scarlet woman' as Matron Jones liked to call her, who was heavily addicted to morphling. She was killed in the middle of the night about a year ago by a drunk suitor, or so they say, you can never be too sure about what truth there is to the things you hear around this place. Elsbeth has been following me around from the first day she got here and its beginning to drive me mad. If she keeps pushing her luck she might end up like poor little Lindie Carpenter.

That girl asked far too many questions.

I decide to feign ignorance in the hopes she'll forget she's seen me hiding away behind the old oak tree, but unfortunately I'm not that lucky.

"Katie! I've been looking for you everywhere!" She puffs as she finally makes her way over to me, her body doubled over from the effort it took to run the whole twenty metres from the asphalt to where I'm sitting.

I force a smile onto my face and peer up at her. "I'm so sorry Elsbeth, I thought you'd know I was sitting over here."

"Oh that's ok." She pauses for a moment and fishes around for something in the pocket of her skirt. "I got you a few crackers from the cafeteria, Miss Jane said she didn't see you come in for breakfast."

Reluctantly I take the crackers from her hand, and push them into the pockets of my own identical skirt. "Thanks Elsbeth, you're the best."

"Oh really? Thanks! Oh, did you hear about Gonny Green wetting the bed last night? Everyone is talking about it."

She blathers on about the whole Gonny Green saga for a good while longer, but I only feign interest. Instead I find my mind wandering off to other things. _Maybe I could steal a needle and thread from the Matron's office and sew Elsbeth's motor mouth shut, then tear the stitches open with a letter opener. I wonder if you can cut peoples tongues off with a letter opener. Surely it's possible. A little bit messy, but possible….._

"And then Lochi Mawson told everybody about it and poor Gonny has been hiding in the laundry all day crying, according to Plia Mirth." She finishes, once again short of breath, this time from the effort of talking at the speed of lightning. I grin up at her right on cue.

"Poor Gonny, I hope he's alright." I lie, my voice wavering just enough for it to sound genuinely worried.

Elsbeth nods her head in agreement, a strand of her mouse brown hair falling out of the messy bun she's attempted to wrap her hair in.

"Oh Elsbeth, your hair is falling out everywhere!" I exclaim, pushing myself up onto my feet. "Here let me fix that."

"Thanks Katie," She says as I start repining the pieces of her hair to her head. "I wish I had hair like yours, all blonde and pretty, not like my awful mousey hair, it's just –Oww!- that hurt Katie!" she shrieks as I pull hard on her hair.

"So sorry" I mumble, all too glad that I'm standing behind her, because the smirk spreading across my cheeks would surely suggest otherwise. "All done."

"Thanks" She mumbles, reaching up with one of her hands to rub the spot where I pulled at the hairs. "Are you nervous about the reaping?"

I wait a moment to collect my thoughts, thinking very carefully about what I say next. The truth is I'm not, I'm actually brimming with excitement. I can't tell her that though, she might think I'm crazy or worse, she might start to question the things I do and the way I act, just like Lindie Carpenter did and I doubt Elsbeth would be an easy person to smother with a pillow. I could always slit her throat but that tends to arouse suspicion.

"I'm terrified." I whisper. Elsbeth wraps her arms around me, pulling me into a crushing hug which makes my stomach turn.

"Me too! I'm sure we'll be ok though." She stammers through what I can only assume are muffled sobs. I have to control myself from hissing in response to how tragic she is.

The thought that she might get reaped for the games is enough to soothe me. Then I'd never have to deal with her boring stories again. Or perhaps I'd be even luckier and get reaped myself. Now that's an idea.

It'd be pretty neat to kill a few kids without the fear of any retribution. A place where you get rewarded for murder? Sounds like my cup of tea.

**Russell Darcy, 14**

"And so it was decreed that each year, the various districts of Panem would offer up in tribute, one young man and woman to fight to the death in a pageant of honor, courage and sacrifice."

The new President's voice is so much deeper than the last one, whose voice had been almost nasal and at times a bit like the sound of nails dragging down the chalkboard. As the propo goes on and on, showing glorified images of children with athletic bodies shaking their fists in their moment of glory, I find myself glancing off instead, watching our Escort, Otis, whose standing to the right of the stage. He's an oldish man with a subtle orange colouring to his skin and he tends to look unbearably bored at each and every reaping. Today is no exception; his eyes are pointed in the direction of the train station instead of the propo and I can only imagine that he's counting down the seconds until he can get back on the train and back to the Capitol.

"This is how we remember our past. This is how we safeguard our future." The President's voice says over the loud speaker and the screen slowly fades to black, signalling the end of the film. Otis arches his back and shuffles over to the microphone, his eyes downcast.

"Well wasn't that just lovely?" He murmurs, his voice perhaps conveying that he thinks the exact opposite. "I just can't believe it's already time to choose one young man and woman to compete in this year's games, why it only felt like it was yesterday that I was up here sending Wendel and Aidra on their way to the games."

An uncomfortable feeling washes over the crowd as he says the names of the tributes from the year before. Wendel had died in the bloodbath, speared by the eventual winner, and poor Aidra ate a bunch of poisonous berries on the second night. For the most part we all try to forget about the kids who've gone into the games, even when their families can't. Otis mentioning them has just dredged up a bunch of feelings and pain we've all tried desperately to repress.

His own face clouds over, and if I didn't know any better I'd almost say with pain. He stares blankly out at the crowd for a moment, his eyes unfocused and out of touch with the present, before he shakes himself out of it, smiling weakly out at the crowd. "Well, perhaps we'll have better luck this year hmm?"

No one utters a single word in reply and he trudges over to the reaping bowls on the right of the stage. In the other districts they always seem to be brimming with names, but here in 6 it looks practically empty.

Otis plucks a name out of the girls bowl and holds it away from him hesitantly, his withered hands opening the paper so slowly that the anticipation is almost too much to bear. Then suddenly it's all opened up and he reads out the name, his voice loud and clear, but in a way almost apologetic.

"Katie Chandler."

A tiny blonde girl with huge blue eyes steps out of the 12 year old section, knotting her hands together nervously on the front of the dull grey skirt she's wearing. Just by looking at the clothes she's wearing you can tell she's one of the orphanage girls, they all wear the same grey skirt and off white shirt to the reaping every year. She's so little, so sweet looking, the poor thing surely won't make it past day one in the arena. The thought of having to watch this tiny girl get hacked to pieces on the television in just over a week makes me feel sick to my stomach.

Everything about the games is wrong.

**Katie Chandler, 12**

Trying to contain the unbelievable excitement that's currently coursing through my veins is almost impossible. Never in my wildest dreams would I have ever thought I'd be reaped. Sure, my name is in for Tesserae, everyone in the orphanage is obligated to do so to help pay their keep when they come of age, but it was only two slips. Here I was thinking I was going to have to wait till I was old enough to volunteer, and now an even more perfect opportunity has presented itself. I'm a poor sweet innocent looking twelve year old girl from District 6, no one will see me as a threat. They'll never suspect a thing.

Not until it's too late, that is.

"How are you feeling my dear?" Otis asks as I take my place beside him, his eyes all cloudy and sad looking. A part of me is tempted to tell him I'm feeling great, amazing actually, that this is the best thing that ever happened. Instead I decide to keep up the scared, sad, little girl charade I've had going since he read my name out.

"Horrible." I sob, forcing myself to cry. I picked that skill up at a very young age and I tell you this, it's been very useful. "I want to go home."

"You poor sweet thing." He whispers, so low I'm not even sure the microphone was able to pick it up, before patting me lightly on the shoulder and turning back to the crowd. "Well, I suppose it's time for District 6's courageous young man to join us up on stage."

He shuffles over to the bowls, the scraping of his florescent green shoes across the floorboards the only sound to be heard in the whole square. He's much quicker this time, perhaps eager to get this stupid show over and done with. His eyebrows knit together momentarily as his eyes squint down at the paper.

"Russell Darcy." He calls out and within seconds an average sized boy with short brown hair steps out from the fourteen year old section, his brown eyes wide open in shock. As he makes his way to the stage I try to suss him out a bit. He doesn't look like anything special, but the shirt he's wearing is a size too big and could easily hide any muscle definition he's got going on, although considering that he doesn't look like one of the lucky merchant class kids I doubt that's the case.

"Feeling ok Mr Darcy?" Otis asks the boy, who has a bead of sweat trickling down his forehead. He doesn't utter a single word, all he does is nod his head ardently, his eyes wide and unblinking. I have to supress a laugh. What must the two of us look like to the people watching in the Capitol? A twelve year old girl who can't stop crying and a fourteen year old boy who's shocked into silence; surely they'll already be writing us both off as bloodbaths. In the strangest of ways, that's sort of amusing.

I can't help but wonder if the shock on the boy's face is just a mask, just like the tears trickling down my cheeks are. As Otis pushes us towards one another, half-heartedly suggesting that we shake hands I study the kids face and come to the conclusion he's not faking it. You just can't fake the kind of shock those eyes are trapped in. As someone who on a few occasions has caused this kind of shock to take over people's features I know exactly what to tell for. This kid isn't faking it, unlike me. He's just plain shocked and scared.

Such a shame, I wouldn't have minded an accomplice.

* * *

**I just had to call Russell Mr Darcy, I couldn't help myself.**

**Well I don't think these two tributes could be any more different, do you? Sweet naive Russell and the mysterious (and potentially villainous) Katie.**** What did you think of the two of them? **

**Seeing as we are at the half way mark, who are every ones favorites so far? Who do you despise? Who would you like to see dressed up as a fuzzy maraca? **

**Sorry about that last question, I just finished watching The Lion King...you know how it is...I hope.**

**Oh I almost forgot! If anyone has any ideas for an Escort I can use for the next chapters, that would be lovely. Feel free to make them as crazy and weird as you want! (I've actually enjoyed writing the ones for the last few districts, they've been quite fun.)**

**Well I better get to work on District 7, so I'll leave you guys be now :)**

**Today if you leave a review, Madge will share some virtual strawberries with you.**

**You know you want them because they were handpicked by Katniss and Gale. **


	8. District 7 Reaping

**Well now, on wards to District 7!**

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**Cyra Hale, 15**

There is this great little pocket of trees about a five minute walk from my house that's both in the district limits and isn't going to be hacked down for lumber anytime soon. My dad says that years ago it used to be a park, a place used for recreational activities, but since the dark days there hasn't really been enough money for districts to spend on 'frivolous' things like parks, so over time it's become a bit of an overgrown jungle. From the very first time I saw it I knew I had to explore it, and it became a sort of place where I went to draw, somewhere private where I could collect my thoughts. It turns out another girl had pretty much the same idea.

I have this theory that creative minds work their best magic together. Rai and I built our fort, four chest high walls of pine needles, connecting four pine trees, with a bed of the same materials used for the walls for our carpet. It's kind of like our sanctuary I guess. When we don't have to be home or at school we're almost always here.

"I think we should extend." Rai says, hoisting herself up on her elbows. We've been lying in the fort all morning, watching the branches above as sway to and fro in the wind with hardly a word said between us.

"Why's that? I like it the way it is." I say, sitting up slowly. I've brought my younger sister Xaya along with us today and she's fallen asleep beside me, pine needles from the carpet tangled up in her hair. Like my own red hair hers almost blends in with the needles, making it look like she and the floor are one and the same. It's sort of pretty, in a way. Then again I do find strange things lovely.

Rai gestures towards my sleeping sister. "We've got a third person coming here now; it's going to get crowded."

"Well where do you propose we extend then?"

She doesn't talk for a few seconds, her eyes scanning the area around us, before her face lights up and she points over to the right. "There, those two trees."

"It'll be a lot of time and effort."

"We have a lot of time on our hands Cy."

"Not if the odds aren't in our favor today." I chirp, trying my best to mimic the Capitol accent. Rai rolls her eyes and throws a handful of pine needles at me.

"That jokes getting really old you know."

"I know, but it's always going to be my favorite."

Rai laughs, shaking her head. "You're ridiculous Cyra." She stands up, brushing the pine needles off her shorts before pointing at the sleeping ten year old beside me. "You'd better wake her up if you want to get changed before the reaping."

"Don't you think our singlet and shorts ensemble looks appealing?" I joke, gently prodding Xaya to wake her up.

"I think I'd rather be in a dress, just in case you know, one of our names gets pulled out of that fish bowl." She says, laughing as Xaya swats my hand away and rolls to the far wall, mumbling gibberish.

"Odds are we don't get picked though, there are plenty of other kids with more slips for the grim reapers to favor " I say as I hoist a still half asleep Xaya up onto her feet by her elbows.

"Well you never can tell what's going to happen Cy," Rai replies, her tone playfully ominous as we drag the sleepy headed creature out through the gap in the fort wall.

"You never can tell."

**Luke Pallas, 17**

For the last week and a half food has been scarce in my house. This happens from time to time, but it's usually in the lead up to the reaping that we're at our worst. My tesserae rations are long gone and the long winter months generally mean I get little work and therefore little money to provide for the four of us. For the last five days my mother, brother, sister and I have lived off pine needle tea, dry crackers and boiled cabbage. Even today, reaping day, is no exception.

My eight year old sister Lana is sitting at the kitchen table, dipping a piece of cracker into her tea, while my brother Avery counts six crackers out for himself. He's only eleven years old, still a year away from reaping age, but he's made the effort to dress himself up for the day, putting on his best shirt and combing his hair that's usually a wild mess atop his head. Lana is still too young to really wrap her head around what's going to happen today but I felt like I at least owed it Avery to tell him what I was planning to do. After today he'll be the man of the house for a while, maybe even forever.

He hasn't been able to look me in the eyes since I told him last week.

"Aren't you going to have any breakfast?" My mother asks as she appears in the door frame. Her hair is pulled back into a tight bun, and even though I know she's trying to smile the pain on her face is all too obvious.

"Nah, I figured I might as well let them have my share. Rumour has it there is plenty to eat on the train." I reply jokingly. From the corner of my eye I see Avery twitch in his chair and I immediately regret saying it, even more so after my mother's eyes fill up with tears.

"I didn't mean it like that," I start, but before I can finish she's spun around on her heels and disappeared back down the hallway. Lana looks up from her tea, her gaunt little face clearly worried.

"Is mom ok?" She asks.

"Of course, she's just gone to get my shirt off the line." I lie, turning around to follow my mother right after I say it, so Lana won't be able to tell that I can't even force myself to smile to help comfort her.

It turns out I don't have far to walk, my mother is only a few feet away, leaning against the wall with her head in her hands, both shoulders shaking from the effort its taking to hold her sobs in. Without a word I walk over and wrap my arms around her.

"I don't want you to do this Luke." She whispers, her voice muffled against my shoulder.

"I have to. We can't keep living like this." As the words come out I feel my chest tighten and for a moment I have to stop talking so I don't end up crying as well. "I can't watch them waste away in front of me anymore."

Her head snaps up and she glares at me, the pine green eyes of hers all three of us children have inherited staring into mine fiercely. "We always get by Luke. Life is hard sometimes but we get by." She pauses for a second, her lip trembling furiously and the next words that come out of her mouth are practically incoherent. "I can't watch you die."

"I might not die though, and if I don't I can fix this mess."

"And what if you do die? What do we do then?" She says, glancing over towards the kitchen, checking to see if either Avery or Lana has started listening into our conversation. Lana is still engrossed in the tea in front of her, apparently forgetting the momentary worry she felt about our mother's hasty departure, while Avery seems to be looking everywhere but towards the hallway. I can't be sure whether he's listening or not.

I clear my throat and say as quietly as I can, "Well that's one less mouth for you to feed."

For a moment I think she's going to slap me, such is the anger that rises up from her neck and takes over her face. Instead her face slowly softens and she pulls me back towards her, wrapping her arms tightly around me in a way that makes me feel six again.

"Well we're not going to worry about that, because you'll be coming home."

I don't have anything else to say to that, so I just squeeze her tightly, hoping it'll give her the reassurance she needs. I'm capable of many things, but making promises I can't keep is one of the things I just can't do, especially to my mother.

Hopefully I won't have to worry about failing her.

**Cyra Hale, 15**

Even though the reapings are, for the most part an awful experience, there is one part of it I've always found enjoyable. District 7 is a bit of a half-way house for escorts, it's the district they come to after they've dealt with the less desirable ones and before they move on to the favorites like 1, 2 or 4. Generally we get a new one at least every two years and today is no different. It's a favorite past time of mine to find out who the new escort is.

Our previous Escort, a young woman called Wanda has moved on to District 2 and this year we've been graced by the presence of a man called Larry. He's a stout man with an incredibly tall afro that bounces backwards and forwards with each step he takes. It's incredibly amusing, to say the least. I've spent half the reaping trying to stop myself from laughing.

"Time to pick the lucky lady!" He says, jumping up and down, his tongue getting caught on the _TH_ in the. He and his wild afro bounce across the stage to the reaping bowl and his hand darts in and out, absolutely no hesitation what so ever. Every other one Escort I've ever seen usually takes their time doing this, trying to draw out the anticipation, so this is rather unexpected. It also gives us less time to prepare ourselves for the reading of the card.

Larry reads the card as he makes his way back to the microphone, flicking it away over his shoulder as he comes to a halt in front of it. In the brief moment before he speaks his tongue darts out of his mouth and I can't help but notice that it's a covered in tiny colored studs and is bright purple. I don't know why I notice this, or where I got the time to do such a thing. His movement from the bowl to the microphone took less than a few seconds, too short a time to notice a trivial thing like that when faced with the name reading. Perhaps time slows down for everyone in the moments before their fate for the year is decided, maybe you get a few more seconds to consider how this moment is potentially life changing.

Here I am wondering why this man's tongue is so strange. I always have had a problem with wasting time.

His tongue darts back into his mouth and his eyes stare out at the crowd, an ugly grin spreading across his face. "And the winner is….Cyra Hale."

At first I'm sure I've heard wrong. There is no way he just read out my name. Surely I've just allowed myself to become confused by his quick movements around the stage. I turn to look at Rai, who is standing over in the sixteen year old section for reassurance and that's when I know I didn't hear wrong. She's got her eyes set steadfastly in my direction, tears streaming down her face. Suddenly it feels like my stomach has dropped down to my mid calves.

I'm going into the games, and if I know anything at all about myself, that's not a good thing.

**Luke Pallas, 17**

I watch the girl make her way up onto the stage and a feeling of dread begins to creep across me. I thought I'd come to terms with what I was doing today, I really did think I was ready for all this, but seeing that girl walking up on stage has planted a seed of doubt in my mind. It's one thing to say you're capable of killing other innocent kids in the name of providing a better life for your family, but it's another thing to actually put a face to one of the people who'll have to die so you can survive.

"Luck was on your side today sweetheart!" Larry lisps as she's pushed up onstage beside him. I can't tell whether he's being sarcastic or whether he actually believes what he just said, but either way it seems to have forced a change in the girl's expression. Her face had previously been blank, completely devoid of emotion, but as those words leave his mouth she scowls, her pearly white skin scrunching up around itself.

"If you say so."

He doesn't seem to catch the malice in her voice and instead just beams back at her, one of the colored studs on his tongue poking out between his teeth. "Indeed! Now let's find out who the lucky boy is that'll be joining you on this trip of a lifetime shall we?"

Larry skips across the stage and just like he did before wastes no time in pulling the name out of the bowl. The tension in the air as he makes his way back over to the microphone is almost indescribable. Every single boy in the audience is waiting for that name to be read out with baited breath, hoping beyond hope that his name isn't written on that slip. For a moment I consider going against the rules set for volunteering and just stating my claim there and then, but something stops me. I'd like to say its common sense, but in reality I'm pretty sure I'm just nervous as all hell.

"Viggo Parker," Larry reads out and a tall boy makes his way onstage from the eighteen year old section behind me. I know Viggo well, he occasionally works down at the lumber yard in the after school hours. Seeing him walk up onstage shaking like a leaf makes me feel a little better about volunteering. He's a big scary looking fellow, but he cried when a few of the boys shot a bird with their slingshot last year. He wouldn't last five hours in the games once the careers worked out he was a grade A pacifist.

"Now you are a brute of a boy, if I may say so myself!" Larry chirps, patting Viggo a little too hard on the back. The poor boy swallows hard and it's all too obvious that he's trying hard not to cry.

"Well, I suppose that's all for today ey?" Larry says, winking out at the crowd. As he's about to introduce the pair as the tributes for 7 I decide it's time to do what I've been planning to do for the last six months.

Thing is, planning to do something and then putting it into action is an entirely different thing.

"Wait!" I stammer, my voice much louder than I'd intended it to be. Every single head in the square snaps in my direction, almost every single expression one of confusion. It's weird having this much attention pointed in my direction and at first I find myself put off by it all. It takes me a few seconds to realize that if I can't deal with a few hundred faces watching and waiting for my next move, I'll never be able to deal in the arena, So I take a deep breath and try to lock eye contact with Larry, hopefully looking more confident than 'absolutely terrified'.

"I volunteer!" I call out, loud and to the point, like it's no big deal, when really my heart feels like it's about to burst straight out of my ribcage. Larry's mouth falls wide open and the Cyra girl's scowl disappears, her face otherwise blank if it wasn't for her hazel eyes looking straight at me, wide eyed and unblinking.

"well then, come on up!" Larry stammers, glancing around nervously. Volunteers aren't unheard of in 7, but they are far and few between so it's not surprising that he's unsure on how he should be approaching this. Honestly I don't think it matters, at the end of the day the Capitol will have its two tributes for its favorite summer sporting event.

The walk to the stage is uncomfortable, every pair of eyes in the square is still locked in my direction and it's hard to ignore them, along with the awful feeling of dread that's tingling up my spine. Still, I somehow manage to make my way up the steps and onto the stage without stumbling or quivering like a leaf.

"A volunteer, what a pleasant surprise!" Larry beams, shaking my hand earnestly as I take my place beside him. "Pray tell young man, what is your name?"

I take a deep breath, trying to gather as much courage as I possibly can. I may be a volunteer, but I still have to prove my worth to the people of Panem, and stuttering my name out is not going to be a good move when it comes to sponsors.

One beat, then two, then three. I swallow nervously and then stare pointedly at one of the cameras to the back of the crowd; one that I can already tell is zooming in towards my face.

"My name is Luke Pallas."

* * *

**Well that's District 7 done and dusted...well, just their reaping anyway. what did you guys think of Luke and Cyra?**

**In regards to the Fort, We used to build forts out of pine needles when I was in primary school and I just couldn't resist planting a fort like that in District 7. Oh the memories :')**

**Well, that's all folks! See you next reaping!**


	9. District 8 Reaping

**Vivian May, 16**

There is a certain feeling of tension that wraps itself around my family home on the day of the reaping. Its tenacity can't quite be matched anywhere else in the district, or at least from my experience it's pretty much in a class of its own. We've been hit not once, but twice by the horror of the reaping. I wasn't even born the first time it happened, I was just a weak stirring in my mother's belly when the Capitol stole my father away from me. He was eighteen years old and fresh faced, with the same sparkling green eyes I have, according to my mother on the few occasions she felt comfortable talking about him. I have only the slightest feeling of loss for my father, after all, it's hard to miss something you've never even known.

The loss of my sister last year though, that pain is still pretty raw.

My mother stands at the stove, carefully pushing some bacon back and forth on the scratchy old frying pan that's been in our home since before I can even remember. Marilyn and Clara, my younger sisters are sitting at the table, both their faces resting on top of their overlapping arms. The sound of the bacon sizzling and my stepfather Curtis shuffling about in the hallway are the only sounds breaking through the uncomfortable silence that's had its hold on the house since dawn.

I'd really like to break it, to try and start up a conversation but I just don't know how. Ever since Elizabeth was reaped last year the sombre mood in our home has completely taken over, and it's even worse considering that one year ago to the day was the last time any of us ever saw her alive, at least in the flesh.

_I can see her even now, sitting in the empty chair across from me, tugging on the sleeves of her tent of a dress to stay up above her wrists, her tongue poking out of the side of her mouth in concentration. Then I can see her up on the stage, tears streaming down her porcelain face while I stood fixed to the ground, my voice unable to call out and save her…_

"I've got to go." I shout out, finally unable to take the silence any longer. My mother looks up, her lower lip trembling slightly.

"But I'm cooking bacon…."

"I'll have something to eat at Paisley's," I start, making my way to the hallway; far enough away from my mother so she can't reach out and stop me leaving. "I completely forgot I had to meet her now."

"Meet her where?" My mother asks, obviously not believing a word I've just said. She and I both know all too well that Paisley is more than likely still curled up in bed, drooling all over her pillow.

"What does it matter?" I sigh and before she has a chance to say another word I'm out of the kitchen, pushing past a blinking Curtis and making my way through the front door.

The air somehow seems a little bit easier to breathe out in the street.

**Airick Marloth, 15**

My sister Calla runs out of the bakery, frantically moving this way and that to try and avoid the people milling about in the street. She's holding a small cardboard box out in front of her, the right side of which has been crushed slightly by her bony little fingers. As she gets within speaking range her face lights up, a toothy grin appearing on her ashen face.

"Wait till you see it Airick! It's a really good one!" She exclaims, jumping up and down in front of me. I quickly –but carefully- snatch the box out of her hands and pull her over to the other side of the road, away from the other people, who've started eyeing us and the box in my hands with both suspicion and undoubtable longing. Food is scarce for a lot of the people in 8 and a ten year old girl making a fuss over a box with the bakers stamp on it is an easy target for the desperate and starving.

"Shhh. You can't go saying things like that out loud. People might think you've got food in that box." I tell her, trying my best not to sound patronizing.

"But it's not food Airick!" She shouts at me, obviously confused. She's still so very much a child who doesn't understand how desperate the world around her is, even though almost every day our little family struggles to get by like the rest of the District.

I sigh and pat her gently on the head. "I know Calla, but I really can't be bothered getting hassled today, ok? Now show me, which one did you pick?"

Her eyes light up the instant the conversation moves back to the subject of what's in the box. Standing up on the tips of her toes she opens the top of the box up, her pinky finger getting caught in one of the holes that's been punched into it as she does so. As the sunlight chases the darkness out of the little container one little patch of shadow remains. If it wasn't for the saucer like pair of green eyes staring up at me I would have thought my mind was playing tricks.

The kitten mews softly at me and Calla giggles. "Isn't she adorable?"

"She's a lot cuter than you." I quip back, expecting her to whine at me about being a smarty pants like she always does, but she's too enthralled by the tiny creature to pick up on my little joke. "You're really lucky I'm letting you have this cat you know, we can't even really afford it."

"But after today you'll be able to apply for more grain and stuff, so we'll be ok." She says absentmindedly, brushing a thumb across the little cats head. Her oblivious little reminder that today is reaping day sticks in my gut like glue. This whole adventure to get hold of the cat had almost been enough to make me forget about the reaping and all the awful possibilities it presents.

"Yeah of course." I reply, before deciding to move the conversation back towards the cat. "What are you going to call her?"

"Well I'm thinking of calling her Isla, after mum, but don't tell dad, I want to surprise him myself." She shuffles her feet awkwardly as she says this, before looking up at me with worried eyes, "Do you think he'll like that?"

I falter for a moment at the mention of our father and then find myself feeling angry. Calla is so excited, so proud of the kitten. I can only imagine how upset she'll be when we get home and dad doesn't even have the decency to look up from the pants he's mending to look at it, to acknowledge something outside of his own little world.

It's going to be a lot like how I'll feel when he doesn't even wish me good luck on my way to the reaping.

I force a smile and squeeze her shoulder tightly. "Like it? He'll love it I'm sure."

**Vivian May, 16**

District 8 is apparently thought of in much the same light as District 1, which creates all the luxury items for the Capitolites. I can understand where the comparison comes from, we make the clothes that go with the beautiful trinkets and furs they drape across themselves, but that is literally all we have in common. While District 1 looks like a sweet little pocket of suburbia with quaint buildings here and there that deal with the actual money making side of things, 8 is primarily a higgledy piggledy collection of factories and run down houses all shoved into one small space. Even the town square and the Justice Building aren't immune to 8's ugliness. The whole square is bordered by large factories; with small stores with their doors shut tightly that lease the space to the square end of the buildings. At the back of the square, or perhaps the front, depending on what direction you're facing is the Justice Building. It's the only place in the town that always looks crisp and well cared for, but that's only because the Capitol hire staff specifically to try and keep it looking lovely, but the factories looming over it from all sides hinder that, casting it in constant shadows

On Reaping day they try to make the place look more appealing by draping banners across the walls and positioning a few lights at the foot of the Justice Building so it looks brighter. Today the lights are giving off a faint green tinge, obviously to try and match Amity, the Escort's hair. She's had it dyed a deep sea green, with tiny clips with buttons glued on the front holding the extravagant style in place.

"Now I'm sure you are all very excited about this year's games." She beams out at the crowd, her silver plated teeth made almost garish by the green lights, "Especially because the male tribute from 8 made it to the final four last year. Hopefully this year's tributes will either match his wonderful efforts or surpass them. 8's time is coming, I swear it!"

"Can you believe this woman going on about Edam like that?" Paisley huffs. Edam had been in our year at school and was well liked by almost everyone. We'd all watched with baited breath as he pushed on through the games, hoping beyond all hope that he'd make it back home. It almost made the loss of Elizabeth that little bit more bearable.

He'd died on the second last day, torn apart by a pack of carnivorous butterflies. I don't think anybody could feel excited about being a prospective tribute this year after watching that awful horror unfold.

"Now as is required, I'll choose our female tribute first." Amity grins, teetering across the stage awkwardly, apparently not all that confident in her gargantuan heels. It takes such a tediously long time for her to get to the bowl, each step so much smaller than necessary. She shoves her hand roughly into the bowl and pulls out a handful of slips, flicking them one by one back into the bowl like she's playing a game of 'he loves me, he loves me not' with a daisy until only one little white sheet of paper is left.

She picks up the pace on the walk back, no doubt eager to open it up and destroy someone's life forever.

"Calica Undermore," She reads out, her mouth so close to the microphone that her voice is projected in an eerie unsettling sort of way. A small girl with bright red hair starts sobbing hysterically in the thirteen year old section. A few moments pass and she makes no attempt at making her way onstage, so a pair of peacekeepers push their way through the crowd of terrified children and yank the tiny child out into the open, pushing her up the steps, her feet kicking wildly in the air as they do so.

"Oh now dear don't cry. You're very lucky, this is an unbelievable honor." Amity tells Calica, an awful smile spread across her face. The tiny girl just sobs in reply, burying her face against the front of her dress.

As the girl stands up ahead of me crying I can't help but be reminded of Elizabeth. If it wasn't for the games she would have been the same age as the girl up on stage today. She'd looked much the same, her face turned into a grimace from all the crying, her voice unable to get a single word out when Amity had asked her questions. This girl on stage no doubt will suffer the same fate as my sister. She'll never live to pass another birthday again.

It's almost like I'm watching last year's reaping unfold all over again, my sister now replaced with the little girl on the stage. My mind trails away for the shortest of moments, pushing thoughts hard and fast at me. This girl should grow up, get married, have a wonderful family, live her life out until her skin is wrinkled and sprinkled with age spots. Instead she's going to die so very young, without having experienced any of the good things this piteous excuse Panem offers up as a life has to offer.

My mouth opens and the words pour out without my minds permission. "No! Not her, I'll go!"

I snap it shut the second the words leave my mouth, clamping my hand over my mouth, terrified I'll say something more, however it's too late, I've already said enough.

Amity is staring at me with her head tilted to the side like a confused dog. "Beg your pardon sweetie, but did you just volunteer?"

I know exactly what I want to say, it's something along the lines of "Oh no so sorry, I don't want to volunteer, not really. I don't even know this girl!" but I know I can't do that, not now, because the little girl is looking at me with such desperation in her eyes. It reminds me of how Elizabeth looked on that stage but with one marked difference. There is something else in this girl's eye now that I just can't take away from her; the faintest trace of hope.

I think of how I failed my sister, of the awful guilt I've carried for the past year and suddenly I know what I've got to do, even if I know it can only mean pain.

"Yes," I reply, "I volunteer."

**Airick Marloth, 15**

I think almost every kid from the age of fifteen and above have their mouths hanging open as Vivian makes her way up onto the stage, her legs shaking with every step. She's something of a golden girl, that girl that all the boys want and all the girls clamor to be friends with. She's been in my history class for the past two years. I'd always marveled at how she always beat everyone in the pop quizzes, proving herself to be that much smarter than the airhead girls she spent her time with.

I can honestly say this is the dumbest thing I've ever seen her do, and it makes me sad. Like the rest of my class mates I like Vivian and I can't imagine how awful it will be to watch her on the telescreens, holding onto the false hope that she'll somehow make it back home alive.

"Well this is promising!" Amity exclaims, rubbing her hands together with glee. "A volunteer, from district 8, can you guys believe it? You must be very confident Miss…."

"Vivian May."

Amity's face somehow manages to go a whole shade paler. "May, oh my….you're not.."

"Yes, Elizabeth's sister." Vivian mumbles, clenching her teeth to no doubt stop herself from crying.

Amity is silent for a moment, apparently lost for words. True to form though she can't be quiet for more than a few seconds and she finds something to say.

"I am most sorry for your loss; she was a lovely young thing. I wish I could say more but unfortunately we are on a tight schedule." She pats Vivian awkwardly on the shoulder and then looks back out towards the crowd. "Time for the boys!"

She's much faster on her way across to the boys bowl than she was for the girls, having seemingly gained some confidence in the killer heels she's wearing. Her hand plucks a slip from the edge of the bowl and she moves just as fast back to the microphone, only stumbling slightly in her last few steps. Vivian makes no effort to steady her and as she regains her balance I'm sure Amity knows this.

"Well now, our male tribute is…" She undoes the tape on the slip, making the wait to hear the name all the more tedious. Every single boy in the crowd seems to be shivering with anticipation, wanting her to read the name out, but at the same time dreading that they'll hear her voice say their own name.

"Airick Marloth."

I don't cry. Crying isn't going to help me now. As calmly as I can I make my way from my section to the walk way in the middle, trying to keep a level head, trying to keep all the bad thoughts that are screaming at the back of my mind to stay where they are. At about the mid-way point one thought does push its way through.

_What about Calla…She needs you…._

I push the thought back, try and focus instead on making sure both legs keep making their way to the stage up ahead. Whether Calla needs me is irrelevant now. There is nothing I can do other than to try and win and to do that I need to keep calm.

That's of course a lot easier said than done, but somehow I manage it.

"How are you feeling?" Amity asks as I take my place beside her.

"Fine, I feel fine."

"Wonderful." She chirps, before looking out at the audience warily. "Now just to be sure, are there any volunteers today?"

No one says a thing. I didn't expect them to anyway. She probably wouldn't have asked, but seeing as Vivian has just offered herself up it makes sense that she'd ask just to make sure their wasn't another surprise package waiting in the crowd for the right moment. I glance over at Vivian. Her eyes are bloodshot and she's biting down hard on her lip, trying hard not to cry, though it seems like she might be fighting a losing battle.

When Amity announces that we're this year's tributes and asks us to shake hands it's like all Vivian's sadness is leaking into me through our intertwined hands. She's busy staring at her feet, her long dark hair hanging over her face. It feels like a silly thing to want to do, seeing as we're basically enemies now, but I don't want her to feel so bad, so I give her hand a quick squeeze. Her head tilts up and away from the hair and the now tear streaked eyes stare into my own. I must seem so cold, so impassive, with my stony expression and calm disposition. I don't want her to think I am like that, so I smile at her and whisper only loud enough for her to hear. "What you did today was really brave."

Her mouth twitches into the slightest of smiles.

* * *

**This was a hard chapter to write, what with the very limited time I've had this past week (It as insane, just wow) but I'm glad I've finally been able to finish it.**

** Airick's first point of view should be partially credited to my cat, while I was writing I said to her "What should I write for him?"**

**She then proceeded to glare at me so I just thought eh, might as well put a cat in the chapter. I actually really enjoyed writing that part, just because it was a little different than usual. If you hated it, blame my unresponsive cat XD**

**Oh! I also put a Rocky Horror Picture Show reference in this chapter... it had to be done.**

**Well I don't know about you guys, but I'm excited that there are only 4 Reapings left!**

**Soon we'll have something different.**

**soon.**

**SOON.**


	10. District 9 Reaping

**Hercules Strong, 18**

Life doesn't come to a stand still for the reaping, not in District 9 at least. Sure all the stores wedge their doors shut and draw down their blinds, but that doesn't mean that the rest of us get a day off. Not that they're really getting the day off anyway, I'm sure they're feeling as low and nervous about the whole thing as the rest of us. Only difference I guess is that people like me still have to get up in the morning and find something to eat. There are a lot of mouths relying on me that I need to feed.

The good thing about 9 is that I don't have to leave the boundaries of the district to find game, not like in the other districts. Stories travel down from the guys on the trains about people who've ventured into the woods and had their tongues cut off in penance, or just plain and simple had a bullet blasted through their brain. Here in 9 you're only looking at getting in trouble for poaching or out of hours trespassing, and between you and me; I'm good at talking my way out of it.

I slip through the gap in between the wire fence surrounding field 6b. It's a corn field that's a bit out of the way and an easy place to catch various critters of the flying and four footed variety. Every night for the past four years I've been coming here and rigging up a few little snares here and there and returning in the early hours of the morning, before the sun has risen and collecting my pickings.

Some days there's no more than a few wild mice, but well, you can't expect miracles every morning, least not in a place like this.

My first trap is not far from the gate and by far the most simple; a wretched old piece of wire netting Cook found in the garden shed one morning. It's a bit tatty and some parts of it have fallen prey to mildew, but if I throw it over a few of the corn stalks I'll usually have a few birds trapped in the netting by morning.

It's an ok haul today, three blackbirds and one big fat nasty looking crow. The smaller birds are easy to do away with, all of them almost dead as it is from struggling against the net, but the crow struggles, pecking at me and flapping its wings against my hand as I try and get a grip around its neck.

I kind of really hate it when the animals go limp in my hand, knowing full well I snuffed the life out of them. It's necessary of course; if I didn't kill them we'd starve, but the dull feeling follows the action every time.

I find two rabbits in one of the other traps but that's it for the day. It's a little bit disappointing, I'd been hoping for at least one or two more animals. With a deflated sigh I put the rabbits into the old grain sack I use for a hunting bag and turn back to the fence. I don't have the time to scout out any extra food this morning, Cook wants the food back as soon as possible so he can prepare a post reaping broth for the kids. It's his speciality, apparently.

The walk back to the orphanage doesn't take too long. Cook has left the back porch light on and I can already smell the beginnings of his broth boiling away, drifting through the air from the kitchen window. Almost on cue his head pokes out of it, a thin saggy bald thing with pokey out ears, as though he sensed my very presence. Or the food, more like it.

"Got me some goodies this morning boy?" He calls out, his one front tooth jutting out awkwardly as he smiles at me.

"Well it's no bumper crop, but it'll do fine for your stew I reckon."

"It's not a stew Herc, it's a bloody broth. How many times do I have to tell you there's a difference?"

"How many times do I have to tell you I don't care?" I laugh back at him as I come through the door and drop the sack on the bench closest. He opens it cautiously and frowns.

"God, it ain't going to be no fancy dinner tonight, that's for sure."

"I don't think any of the kids will care." I say, hoisting myself up onto the bench opposite. Cook sees me do this and narrows his eyes. He hates it when I do things like this but after years of me helping to top up his food supplies he's started to let a few things slide, begrudgingly of course.

"I don't know what I'm going to do without you around here you know." He says quietly. "It's gonna be mighty hard work to find a kid who can rig a trap and hunt anywhere near as good as you do."

"Well you've still got me for another month, maybe more, depending on how charitable old man Eames is feeling." I reply, feeling unsure of whether I'll even get that long. I've been lucky enough as it is to stay on here after my eighteenth birthday.

"Have you worked out what you're going to do with that brother of yours yet? He asks, eyeing me with his trademark caution, as though he's always worried he's going to overstep the mark.

I shift uncomfortably, barely able to look up at him. The thought of having to take my brother out of the relative safety of the orphanage just because I'm now one year too old for the place is almost too much to bear.

"He'll stay here until I can find some work and a place for us to live comfortably. No point both of us starving if he's still eligible for a bed here hey?" I try to smile as I say the last sentence, to try and show I'm attempting to make a joke of the situation, but all I'm able to produce is a weak sort of grimace.

"Now don't go talking like that Herc. You'll be fine, you're a resourceful young lad." Cook croaks back, his voice unnaturally soothing.

"Yeah I know," I say, finally pushing the smile through, even though I'm not sure I believe the words that just left my mouth. "I'll be fine."

I don't know how sure I am about that though. Truth be told I'm scared out of my wits.

**Demeter Ross, 17**

I hate the walk from my house to the town square. District 9 is pretty sparse, and my house is right on the outer reaches of the poorest section, which is about an hour's walk away. If I'm able to cut through the wheat fields I can cut the journey down to about half that, but doing that on reaping day would be unwise. It's a punishable offence to be caught in a field during off duty hours, and while it's easy enough to get away with every other day, doing so today would be a pretty dumb move. Every square inch of the road in town always seems to be crawling with peacekeepers come reaping day.

"Eight. We've seen eight peacekeepers now. That's gotta be some kind of record right?" My friend John asks as we walk along the road. My thirteen year old sister Hestia is trotting along behind us, trying to keep up with John's long strides.

"I don't know about that. My dad says that in the first few years after the war you couldn't go ten metres without seeing a peacekeeper on reaping day." I reply, cupping my hand above my eyes to block out the sun as we walk along. Its rays are glaring extra hard today.

"Well it's a new record for our reapings then."

"Can you even remember how many we counted last year?" I ask, narrowing my eyes at him.

"Well no, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't this many."

"We saw six." Hestia pipes up, her voice so high and shrill it makes John jump.

"How do you even remember that?" He asks, rolling his eyes at her playfully.

"It was my first reaping, I can even remember how many buttons were missing from Emile Coster's blouse." She grins.

"How many was that?"

"Two, both of them up the top so you could see just about everything." She replies, her voice only a little bit smug.

"You're a strange kid Hestia. If I didn't have a hopeless crush on your….." He begins, but his voice trails off and his gaze locks onto something up ahead, his expression clearly troubled.

About twenty metres ahead of us is Wilma Bartlett, one of our neighbours, and a stout boy I can't seem to place. He's got her barrelled up against a utility pole and from what I can see the exchange is anything but friendly.

"Hey!" I shout out, running ahead of John and Hestia. The boy's head snaps in my direction and he doesn't look the slightest bit happy I've interrupted him. As I get closer I can see that Wilma has a small paper bag clutched desperately to her chest, which presumably contains her lunch and is the reason for the conflict.

"What do you think you're doing?" I yell at him when I reach them. By now I've managed to at least remember that he's in the year above me, and though I can't remember his name what I can remember of him is not in the slightest bit pleasant.

"Get lost Ross, this doesn't concern you." He barks at me through gritted teeth.

"I don't care whether it does or not, let her go." I spit back. He lets Wilma go, pushing her against the pole hard as he does so and turns toward me, his face almost amused.

"Yeah, what are you going to do, punch me?" He laughs, stepping towards me. I don't move an inch, not even when he starts cracking his knuckles. "You gonna fix me up real good huh?"

"She might not, but I will. You can bet on it you little rat," A voice snarls behind me. John's shadow has completely blocked any light from hitting the bully boy and he steps back, his confidence fading fast.

"I wasn't gonna do anything Little John, it was all in good fun." The boy stutters, his eyes darting in every direction.

"Did you think it was fun?" John asks Wilma. She shakes her head. "She doesn't seem to agree with you."

"Well errr uhhh I was..." The boy starts, but John cuts him off.

"Just get lost."

The kid does as he says without any of the back chat I'd received; high tailing it away from us faster than anyone I've ever seen run before.

"How do you do that?" I ask John as Hestia rushes over to check how Wilma is.

"What do you mean?"

"You know, get them to run off with their tail between their legs."

"Oh, that. Well that's easy. You've just gotta be intimidating" He laughs, winking.

"_Little john_ is intimidating?"

"That's just my stage name."

I laugh and shove him away playfully. "You're a weirdo."

"Yep, I am. I'll be a late weirdo too if we don't get a move on." He says, pointing at the scratched up watch he's worn on his wrist for as long as I can remember. "If it's still telling the time as reliably as it always has, we've only got about forty five minutes to get to the greatest show on earth before it starts without us."

"Well," I start, grinning up at him, "We better get going then."

**Hercules Strong, 18**

Our Escort is one scary looking creature. Emphasis on the word creature, because I'm not entirely convinced the over-sized chunk of plastic walking across the stage is human. Apparently it's a woman who goes by the name of Eudora, but if you asked me what she was I'd feel more comfortable saying she's a mannequin that's been dip dyed in a vat of toxic waste. The green kind, the one that stains your skin.

She's fidgeting around on the stage as the propo plays, seemingly as bored as we are by the film. The new President's voice over was interesting, but that kind of novelty wears off quickly, leaving it just as boring as usual. The same footage year in year out gets a bit draining. I found it absolutely enthralling the first time I watched it, but once you get older and you're actually at risk of getting reaped it doesn't seem as fantastic as before.

When it ends the unbearable looking lady thing onstage licks her lips and even her tongue looks plastic. "Gives me chills every time I watch it, simply marvellous."

_I get chills just looking at her, not the good kind either._

She grins at the audience, her awful orange irises glinting in the sun. "Well, I think it's about high time we got to the main event hmm? As always, ladies first."

She's quick about the whole picking a slip thing, I've at least got to give her that. Somehow I get the feeling 9 isn't one of the Capitol's favorite districts to watch and that she more or less has to hurry the show along a bit. She picks the first slip her fingers touch and brings it back across to the microphone hastily.

"Hmmmm….well now….Demeter Ross." She calls out.

The crowd is silent for an excruciating amount of time. Then out of nowhere a girl with auburn hair appears in the mid-section, walking up to the stage. She takes her time too, each step sort of uncertain, as though she's not altogether sure she can actually walk. Eudora offers the girl a hand as she makes her way up the wooden steps, which seems to give her a little bit more confidence, not much though.

"Well aren't you a divine darling!" Eudora grins. "The people in the Capitol are just going to eat you right up I'm sure of it!"

Something about the way she says that makes me feel sick, like she's insinuating something more than the usual fanfare the more attractive tributes receive.

"I think they might find me a bit tough and gamey." Demeter replies, her voice sort of slow and unsure as she says it. Eudora laughs.

"Oh aren't you just the sweetest! Now, let's find a lucky boy to join you shall we?"

Eudora let's go of Demeter's hands and scuttles across the stage to the other reaping bowl. Just as quick as before she picks out the male's name and makes her way back to the microphone. Demeter watches her, her amber eyes clouded over with worry.

Eudora pulls the black tape off the slip and reads the name over, before glancing back up at the crowd, her expression beyond ecstatic.

"Well, isn't this ironic! Our male is Hercules Strong!"

**Demeter Ross, 17**

The boy that makes his way up onstage is twice the size of me, even bigger than John by my guess. He's got wavy blonde hair the color of wheat and has eyes grey as stone which are set just as hard. Somehow seeing him make his way up onstage beside me makes everything feel more real.

I'm going into The Hunger Games and I'm going to die. He'll probably die with me.

"Can you believe it! Two tributes with mythical namesakes! Here's hoping you live up to your namesake hey?" Eudora beams, looking at Hercules hungrily.

He seems uncomfortable being so close to her and shuffles back a bit. Other than that though he seems fine, quite peachy really.

He flashes Eudora a wide smile. "Well I'll try my best."

I envy the confidence he's exuding, like it's no big deal he's just been reaped for the games. He's probably got more of a shot at winning this than the rest of the outer district kids but still, it'd be nice if he seemed even half as nervous as I do.

Eudora sort of giggles and then turns back to the crowd. "Let's hope he gives it his all. That is unless there are any volunteers, for both he and Demeter?"

Not a single person offers to take our places but I'm glad for the moment's rest from focusing all my attention on Eudora and Hercules. As she lets the obligatory few seconds tick by I search through the crowd, looking for my sister and John. It's hardly bearable to see Hestia crying down there in front of me, but seeing John with tears streaming down his cheeks at the back of the crowd is another thing altogether. I force myself to look away from the crowd and in doing so notice Hercules is doing the same.

It crosses my mind that perhaps there is someone down there who loves him too.

"No? Well then, I guess its set! Ladies and Gentleman of District 9 I present you your tributes, Demeter Ross and Hercules Strong!" Eudora announces through the microphone. Both Hercules and I turn towards each other, ready for the obligatory hand shake. As his hand wraps around mine he smiles at me, and it's not flashy or showy like the one he just used for Eudora and her Capitol Cams. It's friendly, but even more surprisingly it's sad, or maybe even afraid. Against my better judgement I decide to smile back. It takes an awful lot of effort to smile while also trying to stop myself from crying like a blubbering mess, but somehow I manage it.

For a moment it's comforting, to be able to share in the fear I'm feeling. For a moment I'm able to forget that I'm about to go into a game that's really only set for single players, with one winner overall. Then Eudora is urging us to break apart and I'm alone again, left with my brain to remind me that only one of us is able to make it back home alive.

I decide there and then that no matter what, it's going to be me.

* * *

**I swear to god Camp Halfblood is hiding away in the fields of district 9. I didn't even realize both these guys had Greek (or in Herc's case Roman) mythology names until I finished Herc's first POV.**

**I love it!**

**PJ feelings aside, We only have three more reapings left, which is a very exciting prospect...at least for me anyway hehehe. **

**Well I hope you guys liked Hercules and Demeter, they were quite enjoyable to write.**

**Onwards to District 10!**


	11. District 10 Reaping

**Jay Bird, 14**

My younger brother Jet steps out of the bathroom, his hair still dripping wet, leaving a trail of water droplets on the floorboards. He's only just turned twelve this past week and today is his first reaping. Needless to say he's pretty nervous.

"Do you think I should wear the white shirt or the blue one?" He asks me.

"The white one, the blue one has the tatty sleeves remember?" I tell him as I try to pick out my own reaping outfit. So far I've narrowed the lower half down to a comfortable black skirt of my mother's, but I'm having a terrible time finding a top to go with it.

"Will you teach me how to knot my tie?" He asks again, holding out a navy blue strip of fabric in front of him. I falter for a second when I recognize it as our fathers, one of the only formal pieces of clothing he actually owned. I know from hearing the story countless times from both parents that he wore that very tie on the day of their wedding. Seeing it is enough to bring the painful and all too fresh memories of my father's death back into my mind.

"Jay…are you ok?"

I catch Jet staring at me and shake the thoughts away. "Of course I am, I just got lost in a daydream for a second there."

"It didn't look like the fun kind."

"Mine hardly ever are."

I take the tie out of his hand and wrap the fabric in a loop around his neck, before knotting it in place, carefully taking him through each step as I do so. This really should be something my mother shows him, something she teaches him to do, however since our father's death she's been forced to work longer hours at the meat packing plant, often into the late hours of the night. Last night was one of those times, so she's still tucked up in bed with my younger sister Madoline.

She's got her job, I've got mine; keeping the house in order.

"Do you reckon I'll get reaped?" Jet mumbles as I make the last adjustment on the length of his tie.

"God no. You're the luckiest kid I know."

"What about you, do you think you'll be fine?"

"Of course. I'm pretty lucky too." I reply to him, trying to say it as casual as possible, as though it's a preposterous question to start with, but even I can't make it sound as confident as I want to. I've taken out tesserae for the whole family, plus myself. All up that's fifteen whole slips and while there are kids out there with far more slips in there than me, it doesn't make me feel any safer.

"So, did you want me to walk you there today?" I ask him, trying to move the topic of conversation to something else.

Jet looks at me like he knows exactly what I'm doing but goes along with it anyway. "Yes please, if you don't mind."

"Of course I don't. I'm meeting Max in about half an hour, do you think you'll be finished with your breakfast by then?"

"Yeah that should be fine," He replies, checking over the job I've done with his tie. "Thanks Jay."

"Don't worry about it."  
He smiles at me and disappears into the kitchen. I turn my attention back to the chest of drawers and the mammoth task ahead of me; choosing a reaping blouse. Out of a grand total of three possible choices you'd think it'd be easy, but every year I find myself faced with the same terrible indecision.

Lord help me if I ever need to make the kind of decision my life relies on.

**Gray Atrium, 16**

"Are you sure we've got time for this?" My younger brother Ethan asks as we make our way to the healer's house. Around us dozens upon dozens of kids are making their way to the town square for the reaping, all of them looking anything but happy. A few of them look at us with confused expressions, no doubt wondering why we're heading in the complete opposite direction.

"Look Ethan, you don't have to come if you don't want to. I'm just sick to death of everyone telling us we can't see dad yet." I bark at him. He shrinks back away from me and I instantly feel bad for snapping. "Hey I'm sorry man, you know I don't mean to be awful like that."

"I know I know; you get moody on reaping day."

"It just makes me nervous, you know?"

"Yeah, I completely understand." Ethan says as we round the bend into the street where the old healer woman, Margerith lives. Seeing as District 10 is one of the poorer areas the in town apothecary only really caters to the people who can afford it, and that's a very select few. For the rest of us it's off to old Margerith's house whenever we get struck down with an ailment. My mother says she and her husband, who has been dead for years, never had any children of their own and didn't mind lending the extra space in their shack for a few of the sick here and there. My father has probably been there longer than most; roughly a year and a half now. He got a real bad injury on the job two years ago, which led to some kind of mystery illness that's left him bed ridden for what feels like forever.

They keep telling Ethan and me that he's going to get better soon but I'm starting to think that's a bit of a lie. People don't usually get that sick after a work injury. They just don't.

When we reach Margerith's shack Ethan is the one who knocks on the door. We both stand awkwardly on her doorstep, waiting for her to answer. At first it doesn't sound like there's a single person alive within the house, then suddenly there's the sound of feet shuffling along in our direction. The door snaps open hurriedly and an old woman is standing before us.

A faint scent seeps out through the entrance that smells like herbs and incense, mixed with what I know too well is the smell of lingering illness. Margerith at first doesn't seem to recognize us, scrutinizing our faces with the utmost look of suspicion before her eyes fill up with a soft sort of sadness. "You're Errol's boys."

"Yes ma'm," We both reply in unison. I clear my throat hesitantly.

"We were wondering if we could maybe see him for a while, if that's ok with you?"

The old woman stares at us for the longest time before speaking again, which of course starts to make me feel really uncomfortable. "I don't think that's a wise idea boys, he's not exactly at his best today." She sighs, shaking her head.

"Well we've been told he's a lot better now, so we thought…."

"Listen kid, your dad isn't able to see anyone right now. He's only just managed to fall asleep and I don't want to wake him up. He needs his rest." She tells us, not so much nasty as she is firm.

We must have looked pretty dejected after she said that, because her wrinkly old face softens considerably. "Look, maybe if you come back in the afternoon he'll be well enough for a short visit."

I can't believe what I'm hearing. We haven't seen our dad for nearly nine months now and finally it seems like we've made some progress. "Really? You mean it?" I ask incredulously.

Margerith smiles. "I'm not going to make you any promises but it should be alright."

"Thanks so much lady!" Ethan beams, moving forward as though he's going to hug her but stopping abruptly, obviously thinking better of it when Margerith takes a step back.

"Don't even worry about it. Now don't you boys have some kind of reaping to get to, or am I thinking its Friday instead of Wednesday again?"

"Oh yes right, that we do." Ethan stutters, "See you later then!"

"yeah yeah." The old woman grumbles, stepping back into the strange smells of the house and shutting the door on us. We both turn and walk back down towards the main road.

"Can you believe it Graygray? We might get to see dad again!" Ethan laughs, squeezing my shoulder tight as we come around the bend and filter back into the moving swarm.

"Could you not call me that in public Ethan!" I hiss at him, looking around at the people walking alongside us, all too paranoid one of them might have heard his awful nickname for me. "Actually can you just scrap that whole nickname all together?"

"Oh yes sorry of course. But really how exciting is this!"

I grin at him, feeling the excitement he's showing starting to rub away at my reaping day mood. "Yeah it's pretty awesome Ethan. Let's not get our hopes up too much though alright?"

"Wouldn't dream of it," He says, crossing his fingers over his heart, but I know it's a lie. I've already let my own hopes soar above and beyond what I'd usually allow them to reach; I can only imagine how out of control his are spiralling. Ethan has always been the more optimistic of the two of us.

I'm not exactly the biggest fan of optimism. In a place like Panem it doesn't ever seem to do anyone any good. Walking around reasoning that no matter what everything will turn out fine isn't going to help anyone. It's just setting you up for more disappointment.

Still, I couldn't help but feel excited today; even if I wasn't sure any good would come of it. For once in my life I decided to push the pessimism away and embrace my brothers 'everything will turn out roses' approach to life.

At the very least it improves my mood.

**Jay Bird, 14**

There are a lot of children in District 10 and because of this trying to find a comfortable place to stand in the square on reaping day is near impossible. My father once mused that we all end up looking like the cattle we care for, all cramped into one small space, our eyes wide and fearful, not one of us looking as though we have any idea what's going to happen to us. I've never liked that analogy much, mostly because it's pretty accurate. Just like the livestock, we are all waiting to be sent off to the slaughter.

I left jet with the other 12 year olds about a half hour ago and I can't help but be a little nervous for him. He's a quiet soul, kind of like me, but different in the way that he winds himself up over the simplest of things. I can just imagine him standing in amongst all those people hyperventilating, completely uncomfortable with the closeness of his peers.

I'm standing shoulder to shoulder with Max, who's all cocky because she managed to sneak into the fourteen year old section. She's a year older than me at fifteen but we've been friends for as long as I can remember, and every year since her first reaping we've been sneaking into each other's sections for a bit of a laugh. It'd probably be a harder thing to do in some of the other districts, but here in 10 well, like I said, things are a bit crowded, so a few stray kids here and there tend to go unnoticed. As long as you get your name checked off by the officials you're usually fine.

Roland, the Escort, makes his way onto the stage, struggling to get his short round legs up over the steps to the side of the stage. He's an incredibly tiny man and rumour has it he had his legs shortened ten years ago when being of below average height was all the rage. Apparently it's not as easy to get them returned to their original state, so when the fashion died out Roland stuck by it.

"Welcome District 10! It's so nice to be back here again!" He giggles at us.

"Obviously excited to procure some more bloodbath victims isn't he?" Max whispers to me, trying and failing to get a laugh. The deaths of the two twelve year old tributes from last year are still fresh in my mind; neither was a pretty finish.

The propo film starts and we all watch it intently. Few of us have the time to even watch the games in district 10, so the propo always ends up transfixing us a little. It's sort of pretty in a way too. The young boys and girls shown in the film have bronze sculpted bodies and perfect shiny hair. It makes the games seem so glamorous, but the truth is far from that. Children covered in dirt, grime and the blood of other's, with little to no muscle definition are the kind of people you really end up seeing on the telescreens. Even the careers don't look as perfectly chiselled as the ones up on the screen.

"Now those are the kind of tributes I'd love to watch!" Roland laughs as the film comes to an end. No one else laughs along with him but he doesn't seem to care. "Unfortunately all we've got are you kids, so without any further ado, It's time to reap one lucky young lady."

Roland ambles toward the reaping bowl as fast as his little legs can take him. The two bowls have been placed on a table lowered especially to cater for his below average height, but it's still just a bit too high and he has to stand on tip toes to reach his hand in. When he finally manages to grab hold of a slip he falls backwards awkwardly, only correcting his footing at the very last second.

"Well that could have been awkward!" He laughs when he gets back to the microphone. When no one bothers to humor him he frowns and then continues on with the reaping. "Ok then, let's get on with it. Our lady of the day is…..Jay Bird."

There is a brief moment where I feel panic shoot through my veins, but before it can bury itself in the very core of me I somehow shut it all down. It's like I've flicked a switch and every single emotion inside of me has turned off.

Max has started sobbing hysterically beside me, but even that's not enough to get through the wall I've managed to build up. I break away from her and the crowd of girls around me, walking to the stage on auto pilot.

Roland offers me a hand up over the steps and I'm surprised by how cold it feels. He's even shorter up close, his head only coming up just to the middle of my waist. It feels awkward looking down at him.

"Well sweets, how do you feel?" He asks me, his voice suddenly seeming far too deep for his small stature.

"I feel…fine" I say, my voice unusually monotone. Fine isn't even the right word to use, if I was being truthful I should have just said that I feel nothing, that I'm neither happy or sad, overjoyed or absolutely furious. I'm completely void of all emotion.

Roland looks at me quizzically, as though he's expecting something more from me, like he's waiting for me to either burst into tears or song. When neither of those things happens he clears his throat and directs his attention back to the crowd. "Alrighty then! I guess it's time for the boys!"

As he makes his way over to the boys reaping bowl, I can't help but hope I can keep my emotions completely out of the picture all the way into the games.

Even I know that's a hopeless thought though. Everything about this is hopeless.

**Gray Atrium, 16**

The girl's face doesn't change at all from the off with the fairies blank stare she's got going on while Roland totters over to the reaping bowl, and If I'm going to be honest it's creeping me out a bit. Every other year both tributes have at least shown some kind of emotion. Usually it's a mix of horror and mind bending depression, but sometimes you get the brave few who try and smile their way through it. Not this girl though. She's just staring off into space, her expression completely unreadable.

Roland doesn't lose his balance after picking out the slip this time and makes his way back over to the girl and the microphone much faster. The whole square goes dead quiet again as he unfolds the paper and reads over the letters printed within.

"Our dashing young lad for today is a Mr Gray Atrium." His voice bellows through the speakers, striking ice into my heart. In that split second I'm reminded of the three options I now have before me. I can go up there blank faced and emotionless like that girl, cry my eyes out or try and put on a brave face. There's no way I can pull off the poker face, I'm way too emotional for that, which leaves me with two options.

To either cry or to smile.

I want to cry, that's what my body is telling me to do. I can feel the awful slew of emotions trying to fight their way up and out of my chest and through my eyes, I can almost reconcile that it's the right thing to do.

"_Let it out Gray."_ My father used to tell me when I was smaller, when I'd scrape a knee or something and be trying so hard not to cry I'd bite my lips till they bled. _"There ain't no shame in crying or letting your feelings go, not even for a man." _

I've lived by that rule all my life, right up until today. If I ever felt like screaming or crying or just plain sassing someone I did it. The temptation to do what I always do is strong, incredibly strong. But I'm not going to do it. Not today. I decide to push the tears back down, to keep the pain at bay.

With a wide smile spread across my face I step out into the crowd and make my way up on stage.

This is after all only the beginning of the horrors to come. There'll be plenty of time for crying in the days ahead. Plenty of time for screaming too, I'm sure of it.

I might as well try and smile while I still can.

* * *

**I've decided I'm going to keep all my author's notes till the end from now on, I think it works better that way, but I don't know, I'll probably still be all over the place again soon. **

**These guys were a bit tricky to write, but I think that might just be because I'm itching to write something other than reapings now that I'm so close to being finished with those.**

**With that in mind, There is only two left now! Yaaaaay!**

**Onwards to District 11!**


	12. District 11 Reaping

**Rye Goldsmith, 17**

Narnate and I have been hiding behind a clump of gorse bushes to the end of the apple orchards since three in the morning. We'd been hoping to collect some apples for a reaping day breakfast, but the whole field was crawling with peacekeepers only minutes after we arrived, flashing their torches around, checking to make sure no one was stealing the produce. It used to be a lot easier, you could almost walk into the field on a mid-week afternoon and take as much as you wanted without anyone around to notice and give chase. Not anymore though. For the last four months it's been near impossible to pilfer food. Perhaps my friends and I were too careless, perhaps we took too much. All I know is the peacekeepers traipsing around that field look about as alien and foreign as the weed Narnate and I are hiding behind.

"This is ridiculous Rye, they're not going away anytime soon." Narnate huffs, wrapping her arms tightly across her chest as she does so. "It's freaking freezing too. Can't we just go back home?"

"You won't be any warmer back there under that tarp you're trying to pass off as a tent."

"I have a blanket Rye,"

"You've got four hessian sacks sewn together, not a blanket." I laugh at her, the warm breath from my mouth floating through the air like steam from the kettle in my parent's kitchen. It's almost amusing that even after all this time things still remind me of my father's awful house, with its cold cruelty hidden by Capitol extravagance. Even on the coldest of winter nights, when it's just the four of us vagabonds huddled together in Troy's makeshift hut and it's so cold it seems impossible that any of us will wake up in the morning, I don't miss that house and all its creature comforts. Not one little bit. It's not worth the pain. Freezing to death seems a better option than dealing with any of that.

I push myself up off the grass, careful not to make too much noise. "Well if you're shaking that bad from the cold we might as well go home. If you keep that up you'll be making the ground around us rustle so loud they'll have to find us." I whisper. Narnate pulls herself up fast, clamping her hands even tighter around herself to try and stop her jittering. It fails of course.

The walk back to the fence lining the outer parts of the district is painfully slow. The apple orchard is very large and it's a lot of ground to cover at a reasonable pace, let alone when you're hunched over like a monkey and trying to make each footstep you take as quiet as possible so the peacekeepers patrolling the place don't find you. By the time we reach the fence my back is so sore that when I straighten back up it cracks so loudly that if someone had told me I'd been shot I would have believed it.

"You wanna go over first?" Narnate asks me, her gesturing towards the oversized elm we've been using to get across. The fence in 11 is electrified, and not the cautionary kind of electrified used to keep animals in their pens. This is the kind that'll fry your brain to mush in a matter of seconds.

I nod and begin scrambling up the tree. There is a stable branch that hangs a good metre over the top of the fence and ends just a short jump away from another trees branch. I've made the leap a hundred times over, but I still can't help thinking about how easy it would be to slip and fall. Just one misplaced foot or too short a jump could be the end of me.

It's weird to think that I put myself in this kind of danger on a day to day basis.

Our home, if you can even really call it that, is about a mile from the district border. There is this funny little crevice in the side of one of the hills where we've got a higgledy piggledy sort of camp set up. A few old tarps draped here and there, some wood held fast together with mud; whatever we can get our hands on does the job. In the beginning it was just me and Narnate, bickering at each other just to keep our minds off how cold and miserable it was. Thank god we managed to convince Troy to join us. If it wasn't for him and his excellent survival skills we would have either starved or frozen to death a long time ago.

He's standing by the fire with the youngest member of our group, a twelve year old girl called Ferrata, getting dressed for the reaping. We've got a bit of a reputation in the district, and even with the masks we wear when we rob the fields a lot of people still have their suspicions, so it's important for us to try and look as normal as possible when we enter the square. Troy's hair, which is usually a wild tangled mess is slicked back harshly on his head, While Ferrata's hair has been braided together into an intricate bun, much different to its usual twig strewn mess.

"No breakfast then?" Troy says to me as we enter the camp site, a faint smile spread across his goofy face.

"Nah, too many pigs searching for truffles out there." I sigh as I lean down and open the trunk we keep our clothes in. I pull out an old faded blue dress and hold it against myself, checking to see if it'll still fit. I've lost a bit of weight this year; pickings were especially slim over the winter months.

"Well what can you expect; they only get let out of their stys once a year." He grins, doing the last of the buttons up on his shirt.

"Why are you guys talking about pigs?" Ferrata asks, her brows furrowing together.

"Don't worry about it fairycake." Troy says to her, wrapping her up in his arms and lifting her over his head, making her squeal. "You just worry about looking presentable for the reaping ey?"

"I always look presentable thank you." She chirps at him.

Narnate and I both smile at each other, glad to see the two siblings bonding. It's strange really; these three have become more of a family to me than my biological one ever was. As thoughts of what's in store for the day ahead start to push their way into my mind I can't help but feel a little nervous. It's frightening to think that we could ever be torn apart, especially by something as devastating as the reaping.

I can't even begin to imagine how terrible it would feel to see any of them taken away from me forever.

**Spencer Lux, 15**

My mother always jokes that I should have been the son of one of the tailors in District 8. I've got the patience and the hands required to weave thread through fabric in a straight line, by hand, as well as the keen eye needed to pick up on any faults. Unfortunately there aren't a lot of opportunities present for that kind of thing here in 11. Most people make their own clothes and dresses here, or hand them down father to son, mother to daughter. For the small few who can afford the luxury of an item sewn together by another's hands, and not the hands of a relative, its Mrs Nichols store that you go to. It's only a small little shop, wedged in between the baker's and the cobblers, but it's perhaps the most interesting out of the lot of them, at least for me anyway.

I've spent a lot of time helping her out over these past few years since her husband died, and this morning my sister and I have stopped over for a short visit before the reaping. Mrs Nichols is brewing up a pot of tea while the two of us sit at her kitchen table, my sister Bev scribbling away in the notepad she carries everywhere, and myself admiring a shirt Mrs Nichols has lain out on the table. It's cotton, with the most wonderful checker pattern of blue and white. The stitching on it is almost invisible, all tucked in under the folds of fabric she's neatly sewn together.

"You like it?" She asks as she pours me a cup of tea, thick tendrils of steam swirling through the air and up into my face.

"Like it? I love it. It's beautiful."

"That's a relief then, seeing as I made it for you."

"w-w-wait, w-what did you say?" I stutter, my mind too riddled with disbelief to focus on making sure my words come out right. I've had the speech impediment for as long as I've been able to talk and even though I've learnt how to control it over the years, sometimes it just pushes itself through, taking me by surprise. Thankfully neither my family nor Mrs Nichols takes any notice of it.

"You heard me Spence, it's yours. I thought you might want something nice to wear to the reaping today, which reminds me…." She turns around to the bench to the far left, the place where she does her ironing, and picks up a small dress, its color only a shade lighter than blood. "This is for you Miss Beverly."

My sister looks up from her notebook and her eyes widen. "Oh my gosh really?"

"Really really."

"Thank you so much!" She squeals as Mrs Nichols hands her the dress and then turns towards me clutching it tightly in her bony hands. "Spencer look at the color!"

"It's amazing." I grin at her, while carefully taking my shirt off the table to admire it a little bit more. Both pieces of clothing are so beautiful, it seems strange to think my sister and I will be wearing them. The funny thing is we'll both look so in the money wearing them to the reaping, when the truth is our family struggles along just like the rest of them. It'll feel weird and wonderful all at once.

"Thanks so much for this; you really didn't have to…" I start, but Mrs Nichols shushes me.

"Yes I did Spence, You've been such a great help to me over the last few years and an unpaid one at that. Least I could do was give you a gift."

"Well th-thanks again, it means a lot." I mumble, trying to smile through the strips of dark hang hanging across my face. Since my hair started to creep down to around my shoulders my father has been begging me to get it cut, but I've grown fond of the length of it.

"No worries kiddo." She says, smiling. "Now, who want's some toast?"

**Rye Goldsmith,17**

We all try to blend in as best as we can at the reaping. It's the only time of year I don't put my hair up in a ponytail, and today I'm using it like a mask, letting the hair hang all limpid across my face, leaving half of it hidden from the curious gazes of the people around me. There are a few individuals who seem extra interested in me, like a short round girl I used to go to school with and the daughter of the maid who tends my father's house, as well as some other vaguely familiar faces. All of them are trying to sneak a peek at the girl with her hair shrouding her face, trying to work out whether they are right in recognizing her as the Mayor's runaway daughter. By the time they work it out the reaping will hopefully be over and I won't have to deal with any forced attempts at a reunion.

Hopefully the horror of what's to come will make them forget I even exist. The reaping has a way of doing that to people.

Our Escort Gesha is rambling on about pride and honor and all that jazz, but I really haven't been listening to any of it. Her speech is generally recycled material from the ones of years past, and none of those have ever been interesting. That's probably got a little something to do with Gesha's monotone voice and delivery of the words, but it wouldn't be fair to give her all the credit now would it?

Narnate is glancing around nervously, her eyes following the overwhelming number of peacekeeper's pacing back and forth along the sections. "There's too many today Rye." She squeaks, her voice far more nervous than usual. "I can't get whipped again, not like last time, nope nu uh no way."

"We'll be fine Narns. You know they always clear out of here once the reapings finish." I tell her, keeping my voice as low as possible so sticky nose Hilda one person in front of me can't hear. "It's the same thing year after year, they come, they reap, they leave, and we go back to our lonely old crevice in the hill and drown our sorrows."

"We don't have anything to drink though."

"I swear we had some apple juice left over."

"No," Narnate whispers, "That juice went off about a week ago, Ferrata just hasn't had the time to clean out the supplies."

"Then we'll have cider, it's settled!"

"I don't think it works like that Rye."

"Oh I know, I just wish it worked like that." I mumble, my voice trailing off as I realize Gesha has stopped her speech and is standing at the microphone with a white slip in her hand. It's actually kind of frightening to think that the reaping has progressed this far already and I've been absolutely oblivious, joking about cider and glancing nervously through the strands of my hair at the girls either side of me. Even the droning of the Propo film has escaped my notice.

Gesha unfolds the paper, her bright red lips held tightly together as she reads over the words printed within. When the words leave her mouth the lips hardly move an inch, the faintest ripple of movement only just visible at their very centre, but nothing more. Her voice however is loud and clear, the name bouncing through the air in a tone that seems to care very little for the weight of what it's carrying.

"Rye Goldsmith."

**Spencer Lux, 15**

The mayor's wife wails piteously as her daughter's name is read over the speakers. Beside her the Mayor's face only contorts the slightest bit, before he and everyone else in the square start searching for his missing daughter. I'd have figured she wouldn't have turned up, especially with all the rumours flying around that she's the leader of the group who've been pillaging the crops, but then I don't actually know her, I never have, so who am I to be the judge on that.

When she emerges from the crowd the first thing I notice is how frantically she's trying to brush the honey blonde strands of her hair away from her face, while still exuding a kind of confidence I could only dream of possessing. She's got her chest puffed out defiantly and both arms held fast at her sides, neither hand showing any signs of trembling or shaking. The second thing I notice, just as she walks past me, is how hard her eyes are set on her father. She's not looking at the spindly woman who just called her to her death, or the sobbing mess of a woman I know to be her mother. No, those eyes are locked onto the mayor with undeniable hatred.

"Welcome darling." Gesha drones, not even looking at Rye as she steps up onstage beside her. Not that that's an issue, because Rye isn't looking at her either. "How do you feel my dear?"

Rye's mouth curls up into a pained sort of smile, "I'm feeling like I've had a bit of an epiphany."

"And what is that?"

"Well, it just strikes me as ironic that I've fought so hard to escape violence, only to end up getting reaped for the games." She sneaks a look back at her father and the hatred is yet again more than obvious. "I guess I'm just one of those people who are meant to suffer."

There is a collective gasp from the audience, and even Gesha seems taken aback. Most of the tributes from 11 only manage to mutter out a few short syllables at best. Rye's just managed a whole two sentences that are once again going to send the rumours about the Mayor's violent behaviour and the reason for Rye's disappearance back into full swing. Coupled with that and her bordering on controversial comment about the games, she's no doubt going to cause quite a lot of talk in the Capitol. They do say that any publicity is good publicity, but when it comes to the games you can't be too sure.

"Well….that's, nice…." Gesha stutters, some actual variety present in the tone of her voice for once. "But I think we really ought to get on with the boys now."

She hurries across the stage, her hand darting in and out of the bowl like a viper. She must be eager to get this over and done with; I know I would if I was her. Not for the same reasons though I'm sure. I'm guessing she's just eager to curl up in her bed on the train and watch re-runs of the awful Capitol sitcoms. I'd just want it over and done with, much in the way I want to rip a band aid off as fast as I can, so the pain, while still present and at times excruciating, is fleeting.

Her lips don't move an inch as she reads out the name.

"Spencer Lux."

It's such an awful shock that my first reaction is to laugh. It's not that I find it funny, and the laugh that comes out of my mouth is more of a chortled scoff, but it's a laugh all the same and the people either side of me give me strange looks, as well as the standard concerned ones. It's just that it seems so ridiculous that someone like me, someone so quiet and out of the way, the kind of guy that no one ever takes even the slightest notice of, is being sent into the games with one of the most infamous people in the district. As my feet shuffle awkwardly ahead of me, my knees bending each and every way from the fear of it all, I can't help but think that half the crowd are thinking much the same, while the other half are trying to work out who I am.

"Hello there." Gesha mutters. "Do you have anything that's potentially controversial to add to Miss Goldsmith's comments?" she asks me, the slightest hint of malice present in her voice. I get the feeling Rye's comment about suffering in regards to the games has hit a nerve with her ,even though Rye was only trying to insult her father on a district wide scale.

For a brief moment I want to follow Rye's lead and say something out of the ordinary, but I stop myself. I know I'm going to need Gesha's help to win over sponsors and I just can't afford to make her dislike me. I don't have that snarky charisma going for me like Rye does. She'll probably end up with sponsors whether Gesha wants to help her or not. So instead I decide to just play it safe.

"N-n-no, I'm just in a bit of sh-shock really."

Gesha's awful lips almost form a smile. "Well that's to be expected of course." She turns out to the crowd, looking pointedly at one of the camera's to the far right. "Well then, may I present the tributes for District 11, Rye Goldsmith and Spencer Lux."

Both Rye and I are then swiftly led through the huge wooden doors of the justice building by a pair of peacekeepers, and it's only when the darkness of the hallway hides my face from those around me that the shock gives way to tears.

* * *

**Well what did you guys think of Rye and Spencer? I know this isn't one of the better reapings I've written and I apologize for that, really I do. Two months writing reapings gets a little bit repetitive you know?**

**I'm slowly going mad. Very very slowly.**

**But on the plus side, there is only one more left, which I think is rather exciting! **


	13. District 12 Reaping

**Modest Kline, 14**

My younger sister is curled up under our mother's patchwork quilt, wearing one of our father's woollen sweaters. Even with the quilt and the sweater I can still see she's trembling from the cold, her skinny little arms wrapped tightly across her chest in a subconscious effort on her part to try and keep warm.

As my eyes focus in the dim light I can see my brother Kyle sitting in the old cane chair at the end of the bed, his head resting on his knees, his little toes curling tightly over the chair's edge.

"Why are you sitting over there? It's not even light outside yet." I ask him.

He pulls the tatty shirt he uses for pyjamas down so it covers his legs and feet fully, making him look like a human tent. "I had a nightmare."

"Ok then, why would you go to the chair instead of waking me up?"

"Because its dad's chair." He says, leaning back. My heart almost breaks then and there. He was only two when our parents died, too young to have created any steadfast memories, but the ones he does have all seem to revolve around that chair, where our father would sit and tell us stories about princes and princesses.

There aren't any people with titles like that anymore. There are only Presidents, Capitolites, citizens and tributes. The last is one no one ever wants to have attached to their name, unless they are able to change it to victor instead. Even then I'm not sure anyone would want that.

"Come here." I say softly, patting the empty space beside me. He nods and crawls in under the quilt and wraps his arms around my neck in a hug. I run my fingers through his auburn hair, the color we both inherited from our father, trying to soothe him. "What'd you dream about?"

"Derek and Julia." He mumbles, burying his face in my shoulder. I have to force myself to swallow hard so I don't cry. Derek was our older brother, one year older than me. When our parents were killed in the mining accident he stepped up, taking on tesserae for all of us, even Miya, who was just a round pudgy baby. He ditched school to find food for us as well as fixing up the leaks that were and still are springing through the roof. Life was hard but with Derek acting as provider we were getting through ok.

Then he was reaped for the games and he never came back. He died protecting his district partner and our life long neighbor Julia from the career pack. It was all in vain of course; once he was dead they killed her as well, taking plenty of time to relish in their handy work. I tried to shield Miya and Kyle from seeing any of it, but that's a hard thing to do when the games are playing twenty-four seven, in the schools, the square, even the stores. When it gets a bit dull, when things aren't moving along at an action filled pace they sometimes play the highlights of that particular game. Julia and Derek's deaths were one of the main highlights for the year so they played it often. As much as I tried I couldn't protect Kyle from seeing it in the end.

I want to be able to tell him not to worry, that it's ok, it was only a dream, but I can't do that because it's not the truth. Most of what he's dreaming about are probably just memories of the things he's already seen, just distorted by his mind, making it worse. That's what my dreams are like.

Except I see more than Derek and Julia. I also see our parents gasping for air as rock, rubble and dirt swallow them whole, burying them deep within the earth forever.

So instead I just keep running my hands through his hair and shushing him until he falls back to sleep. The sunlight has started to peek through the curtains and while I pull myself out of bed I decide to leave them be. Seeing as neither of them are old enough to be reaped they usually stay home on reaping day with my friend Xander's mother. Seeing as she won't be over till mid-day it seems reasonable enough to let the two of them sleep in, after all, brief moments of respite such as these are few and far between here in 12, especially for people like us. I might as well let them enjoy it.

**Cole Mackenzie, 14**

I try my best to always stay optimistic, which is apparently a hard thing to do in District 12. The people in the Seam always seem downcast and downtrodden, their faces wrinkled in pain or sadness. I get why they feel this way, really I do. I live smack bang in the middle of the Seam; I know what it's like to feel so hungry you worry your stomach will eat itself just to keep you going for a day or two more, to feel so cold at night your bones feel like they've been dipped in icy water when you wake in the morning. I know life here is hard, perhaps a lot harder than some of the other districts, but I can't let myself fall into the rut like so many of my neighbours. I get by just on the hope that one day life will get better for me, that everything will turn out fine.

I almost always walk to the reapings on my own, at least part of the way. My parents and younger sister always go later, but I like to get in early so I can find a comfortable spot to stand, preferably close to the exits. I may be friendly and optimistic most of the time, but even I get the heebie-jeebies at the reaping. Just like every other kid I want to be in and out of that square as fast as I can. Last year I got stuck to the back of the crowd and it took forever to get home. The whole time I could hear Modest Kline, a girl in my year at school, screaming and crying her eyes out because her brother had just been reaped. It made me feel terrible for days afterwards because he was literally all she had left. Once he died she was left to fend for herself and those poor two tiny siblings of hers on her own.

She does alright though from what I've heard.

As I round the corner that leads out of the Seam and into the merchant part of town I spy my friend Aden chatting away with Jeanie Hart, one of the most beautiful girls in the whole district. She's two whole years older than us, and under most circumstances wouldn't be seen dead talking to anyone under the age of sixteen, but she and Aden have been friends of the family for as long as either of them can remember. It's one of the reasons Aden's become so popular with the other kids in our class; they all admire him for his connection to the ethereal Jeanie Hart.

"Hey Cole!" He calls out, waving ecstatically in my direction. I wave back just as Jeanie's head snaps around to find who he's waving at, and she gives me a wide smile. Not the kind of smile you'd want from a girl like that, but the kind that's a bit like "Oh you, I know you," Which is good enough in my books.

"Cole you know Jeanie, Jeanie, this is Cole." He says as I come up beside them.

"I know who Cole is Aden." Jeanie laughs, twirling a strand of golden hair around her fingers. "He's the eternally optimistic friend, am I right?"

"That's me." I stutter, slightly embarrassed and not too sure whether she's making fun of me or just stating the obvious.

"We were just talking about how much tesserae we've had to take out this year." Aden tells me. "I've got eighteen"

"I've got twenty-five." Jeanie chirps. "What about you?"

"Just twelve for me this year." I say. "Dad wouldn't let me take out any for him."

"That's so sweet of him." Jeanie mumbles, the slightest hint of envy present in her voice. I can understand why. She's not even the oldest child in her family and she still has to take on everyone's points. Her father apparently makes her do it because he thinks her older brother Damon is more valuable to the family, but that's just gossip I've heard whispered between my own parents at the dinner table and I don't pay a lot of attention to that kind of thing.

"I guess so." I say.

She smiles at me, a big wide toothy kind of smile, before turning back to Aden."Well it's been nice talking to you Addy but I think I better go find the other girls now." She turns back towards me and says "Goodbye Cole."

"Bye Jeanie." I stammer, and then she's gone, sauntering off down the street towards Carey Munsling's house.

"All the boys are going to be asking me so many questions tonight." Aden cackles, clapping his hands together. "Oh Aden, how do you do it man? How do you get her to talk to you?"

"Sooner or later they are going to work out your mothers are best friends you know."

He sticks his tongue out at me. "Hopefully that day will be much _much_ later when I am married with a wife and five fabulous children and none of this even matters."

"Five kids? You don't even like kids." I laugh at him.

"True, but I like the word fabulous and it works best with five."

"If you say so."

"I do say so." He grins at me, looking down at his watch. "Jeez, we better get on our way Cole. If we wait around any longer we'll end up trapped around the edges like last year."

"We'll make it, don't sweat it. I feel like the odds are in our favor for a hasty escape this year." I say, mimicking the Capitol accent for the last portion of the sentence.

"Maybe one of us won't be allowed to escape, you know, maybe one of us will have to embark on a treacherous journey of honor and pride." He laughs.

"Nah, We'll be fine. I've got a good feeling about today." I say, as we walk towards the square.

**Modest Kline, 14**

It's a lot hotter in the square than it is back home in the Seam. There's plenty of trees back there that keep the cold air around in the morning and plenty of shade during the warmer parts of the day. Here in the square there's no shade, nothing to protect us from the harsh hot rays of the sun. It's just a wide empty space with a dusty floor. On years where the temperature has skyrocketed it's especially uncomfortable, because the wind sends the dust swirling everywhere and it sticks to your sweat, making you feel itchy and grimy. Thankfully this year it's leaning more towards the cold side than the warm.

Our Escort is pacing back and forth as the propo plays, which is actually a little bit distracting. It's not hard to see why Arachne has been stuck escorting twelve since the very first games; she's the least professional of the lot of them, and that's saying something because there are some truly woeful escorts getting around. Last year she picked the girls name out before the propo had even ended, causing almost half the crowd to start hyperventilating. People need that warning beforehand, those words to let them know the horror is about to begin. After that whole debacle there were rumors floating around that she wouldn't be returning this year, but I guess those were wrong. It's not surprising, I can't imagine there were a lot of people willing to step up and take the place of Escort for District 12. As much as they want to spruik it as an entry level district, it's earned a bit of a stigma as a long term position.

Plus, nobody wants to escort one of the few remaining districts who don't have a victor to mentor the poor kids. That just means more work for them and everyone knows the people in the Capitol are the epitome of laziness.

As the music draws to a close Arachne practically sprints back to the microphone, her hands so jittery she has to grab hold of the stand to stop them. "Wonderful, simply stupendous! Don't you think?! Well of course you won't answer me, so let's consider this a rhetorical question hey?" She rambles through the speakers. I exchange a look with my friend Ana, our eyes both agreeing that she seems even weirder than the year before.

"Well Well Well, I suppose we better pick out a beautiful young lady to come join me up on stage!" She says, walking over towards the bowl. She stops after a few short steps though and adds as an afterthought "Or an ugly girl, lord knows that fishbowl thing ain't picky!"

Ana's mouth drops open in shock. "Did she really just…"

"Yep." I reply.

Arachne jams her hand right into the centre of the mass of white slips and pulls out a handful, flicking them away like she's dealing out a game of poker until there is just one left. She opens it on the walk back to the microphone, her face lighting up with glee as she reads over the words.

Or just because she's bonkers, I'm not too sure.

By the time she gets back to the mike I'm surprised she hasn't exploded with excitement. My amusement fades quickly when she shouts the name out.

"Modest Kline, come on up!"

It's so horrifying that I can't even move. More than anything I want to crumple into a heap on the ground and just waste away, but I can't even do that. My knees are locked rigidly together, in fact my whole body is stiff. I can feel Ana shaking me, I can almost see her tear strewn face desperately trying to get my attention, but I can't respond. My body has shut itself down in the same way the machines in the mines do.

Eventually some peacekeepers come and drag me towards the stage. That's when the shock starts to wear off. That's when it actually hits me that I'm going to go into the games. Just Like Derek. The realization that there is no one to care for my four and five year old siblings hits me like a knife to the heart.

"What about my brother and sister?" I mumble, the words coming through hoarse as I struggle against the shock. Neither of the peacekeepers look at me or acknowledge the fact that I've spoken, they just push me roughly up the stairs and into Arachne's jittery hands.

It's those hands that wake me up.

**Cole Mackenzie, 14**

"No!" Modest screams, trying desperately to push Arachne away from her. "What about my brother and sister! Who is going to look after them! They need me! No!"

It must all be too much for her to process, because as she goes to scream something out one final time, her body suddenly goes limp in Arachne's arms. The poor girl has fainted on national television. There hasn't been a fainter for five years now, I think. I can't help but feel absolutely awful for her.

Arachne looks around nervously; her arms holding Modest away from her body, as though she's terrified of having the poor girl touch her. "Ahem, perhaps someone could lie this poor dear down for me?"

The same peacekeeper's that pushed and shoved Modest onstage come and take her away, treating her with a lot more care this time. The younger of the pair even sits down to cradle the poor girl's head in his hands as they place her down to the side of the stage, away from the camera's vision, but not from those close enough to see. It's a touching gesture that reminds me that the peacekeepers are just ordinary people like us.

"Heavens! That was a little bit crazy wasn't it?" Arachne laughs, brushing her hands repeatedly on the puffy skirt of her dress. "Now that she's being taken care of I better go find her a strong young man to travel to the Capitol with."

She does the same strange flicking thing with the handful of cards she picks up from the bowl, but this time she doesn't read the name until she's back.

"Cole Mackenzie, your number is up!"

At first it's the ridiculous line on the end that I think about most. Ever the optimist I try to hold on to that, to focus on it as the worst thing in this whole experience. That doesn't last long though. The fear creeps in, as well as the realization that I'm about to be sent into the games. As I walk up to the stage I try and soothe myself, I try and tell myself that everything will be ok, but I can't.

I can't think of a single way any of this can be spun into a positive. If I wasn't so terrified I might have even laughed about how I've finally been beaten in a game I always thought I was sure to win by being sent into another game.

"Not going to faint on me are you young man?" Arachne jokes, jabbing me in the side as I step up beside her.

"No ma'm." I croak out, my throat suddenly feeling as dry as sandpaper.

"Thank god!" She says, grinning from ear to ear. "How are you feeling about all this Mr Mackenzie?"

I wish I could say I feel fine. I even wish I could spin a huge lie and say I'm ecstatic, that I can't wait to go to the Capitol and eat their luxury meals, like another boy did a few years ago. The words that come out of my mouth aren't anything like that though. The words come straight from the heart, not the mind.

"I'm scared."

* * *

**Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeoooooow! hurrah! The reapings are finally over *explodes***

**Now that you guys have finally met all 24 tributes I'm putting up a poll to see who the favorites are. You can find it on my profile. I've set it so you can choose up to 5 tributes, that way we'll get a little more variety I think. So vote away!  
**

**I'm not sure on what I should do for the next chapter. I'm thinking of either doing a set of 6-8 characters in the justice building, or just skipping that completely and moving on to the trains instead, but i'm not sure. What do you guys want me to do? **

**I'd also just like to say a big thank you to those of you that have reviewed so far, it means a lot, truly :)**


	14. Goodbyes and Journey to the Capitol

**Flinch Lightwood, 17, D3**

When the door to the room they've shut me away in finally opens its Avi that appears, not one of my family members like I'd expected. For a brief moment I feel relief wash over me because I'm not ready to see my mother's face yet, or my father's. To tell the truth I'm not ready to see anyone yet, but I'm glad it's Avi and not any of the others.

Avi wraps his arms around me and I'm sure it's the first time either of us have ever hugged one another in the whole time we've been friends. Out of he and his brother Avi is by far the least likely to ever show any kind of emotion, so I can't help but choke up a little bit.

"You're not going to come back, are you?" He mumbles as we break apart.

I shake my head and the poor kid actually starts crying, which makes me to start crying as well. "I'm sorry man."

"No," He sobs, wiping the tears out of his eyes and trying to force a smile. "Don't be sorry. If I was in your position I'd do the same thing. Just make sure you get her home ok? I'm already struggling to come to terms with the thought of losing one of my best friends, let alone two of them."

"I promise." I say, and suddenly all I can think of is that Allius is across the hall in a room just like this, struggling with the same pain as I am. "Have you seen her?"

"No, but Atzi is in there with her, so don't worry about her being alone."

"That's great. Wait, why did you guys get in before our family?" I ask, suddenly feeling panicky. Their absence is making me wonder whether they even care, even though that's a ridiculous thought. I know I'm well loved, that they'd never abandon me. It's just all the fear of what's to come making me paranoid.

"Your father went home to get your token, that's all, they'll be here soon. Allius's parents did the same too." He says, soothing my momentarily ridiculous fear.

"Good, I'm just nervous. This whole thing is making me feel crazy."

The door creaks open and a pair of peacekeepers enter, their expressions unreadable through the plexi-glass on their helmets. "Time's up."

Avi nods and begins walking towards them. As he starts to make his way through the door frame he turns back to look at me. "Goodbye Flinch."

"Goodbye Avi. Tell Atzi…tell him…well you know." I choke out.

As the door clicks shut behind him I know it'll be the last time I ever see my friend, as well as the last time he'll ever see me alive in the flesh.

**Modest Kline, 14, D12**

When I wake up from my fainting spell the people I love the most in the world are all looking down at me; Xander, Ana, Miya and Kyle. Of the four of them Xander is the only one who's cheeks aren't streaked with tears, but I know he's just trying to be brave for every one else's sake. Someone has to hold it together after all.

It's obvious that someone isn't going to be me.

"Oh god, I fainted didn't I?" I groan.

"Yeah," Xander half laughs, but I can hear the pain in his voice. "You scared that old nutbag Arachne something good."

"Well I suppose that's one good thing to come out of this then." I say, trying to be funny, but I can't even fool myself into thinking a joke can take the edge off a bit. I end up just bursting into tears.

"I don't want you to go." Miya whines, burying her face against my shoulder. Kyle sits behind her, his mouth clamped shut so tight his chin is trembling from the effort. It suddenly hits me that right now I've got to be strong, at least for their sake, so I somehow find the strength to stop crying, pushing all the pain and fear aside for the moment.

"I've gotta go ok?" I tell the two of them. For a brief moment I consider telling them that it'll be ok, that I'll be back before they know it, but I know that would be wrong of me. I can't promise them something of that magnitude and the thought of letting them down kills me. So instead I just whisper, "But I promise I'll never leave you guys, no matter what happens. Keep a little place saved for me in those hearts of yours alright?"

That seems to make them feel a little better, but I doubt by very much. As the two of them wrap their arms tightly around me, squeezing so hard I wonder how anyone will ever manage to get them off I turn to my two friends. "You guys will look after them for me, right?"

"Of course." Xander answers immediately.

Ana nods in agreement. "We've both got pretty big families, but we'll do our best to make sure they're looked after, as best we can."

"Thank you." I stammer, but a thought is niggling at the back of my mind. Life is hard here in 12 and both Xander and Ana's families are struggling to get by as is, without two more hungry mouths to worry about feeding.

Who knows how long their love for me and desire to care for my siblings will last if I don't come back?

**Brock Emerald, 18, D1**

"You can do this Brock." My father says sternly, clapping his hands down hard on my shoulders. "You've trained hard for this."

I can see Opal standing behind him with our mother, biting down hard on her lower lip. My heart lurches in my chest as I remember what my failure will mean for her.

"It's not a matter of I can win this thing. I have to win, and I will." I tell him, knowing it's exactly what he wants to hear. The look on his face is one of such overwhelming satisfaction that it makes me want to punch it right off. I can only imagine how quickly that smug smile would disappear if I told him that the only reason I kept going with this whole plot of his was to make sure he didn't send Opal to the games instead of me.

I don't say it though. My greedy father has never been particularly kind to those who question the love he feels for his children, or his reasons for being such an avid supporter of the games.

He doesn't like his integrity to be put in question.

**Airick Marloth, 15, D8**

"No! No!" Calla sobs over and over again, her little hands balled tightly around the collar of my shirt. "They can't take you away from me, I won't let them!"

"Hey, don't be like that, ok Calla?"

"I can't help it" she sniffles, looking up at me with eyes so bloodshot from crying they make me want to tear my heart right out of my chest. "Who'll look after me while you're gone?"

"Dad will," I say, glancing over to where he's sitting, on a chair in the corner of the room. He'd had his face hidden in his hands for the last few minutes but at the mention of his name he pulls his face up, his eyes meeting my own. I force him to hold my gaze. "Won't you dad? You'll look after her while I'm gone."

I hold his gaze for a while longer after I finish the sentence, hoping to get the words I can't say in front of Calla across to him. _You won't flake out on her, no matter what happens, even if I die. You've got to step up. For her….and me._

I think he gets the gist of what the look means, because he nods quickly, his adams apple rising and falling fast from the effort its taking to hold in his emotions. It make me feel sort of melancholy that he's only now showing any sign of caring for my actual wellbeing because he might lose me.

"Airick?" Calla mumbles, tugging on the collar of my shirt to bring my attention back in her direction.

"Yeah Calla?"

I've got something for you," She says, rummaging frantically through the front pocket of the pinafore she's wearing, before pulling out a tiny piece of silver. As I squint to get a better view of it I see that it's a small butterfly charm, no bigger than my thumbnail. The kind of charm you find on one of those beautiful little bracelets some of the girls in the merchant class wear, or sewn decoratively onto one of the Capitol dresses.

"Mum's charm." I say, my eyes welling up with tears. Its Calla's most prized possession and the only thing she has to remind her of the woman who died giving birth to her. I shake my head. "No Calla, I can't."

"Please Airick, please." She whines, pushing it into the palm of my hand. "I want you to take it as your token, so you've got something from home with you, while you're….while you're…." She can't even finish the sentence, instead she just starts crying all over again, that awful choking kind of cry that's near impossible to stop.

I wrap my fingers around the tiny charm and pull her into a hug, as tight a hug as I possibly can in the hopes it'll soothe her. "Ok, I think that's a great idea. Thank you so much."

There is a soft knock at the door and a peacekeeper enters the room, his steps cautious. He's doesn't look like he could possibly be a day older than nineteen, and his face looks sad, as though he doesn't want to have to say what he's been sent to do. "I'm sorry guys, times up."

As the words leave his lips Calla's fingers claw into my side and she starts screaming no, over and over again. For the first time in years my father actually reacts to something; he gets up from his chair and pulls her away from me, his cheeks so tear strewn that it shocks me. He wraps my sister, his daughter up in his arms like a baby, cradling her head against his own.

"I love you kid and I'll see you soon," He sobs, before turning around and following the peacekeeper out the door, leaving me with only my mother's butterfly charm as company.

**Demeter Ross, 17 D9**

Saying goodbye to my family was by far one of the hardest things I've ever had to do in my whole life. Hestia had been crying so hard she couldn't even speak and my father was a blubbering mess, while the youngest of our little quartet, my four year old brother Icarius, had no idea what was going on and was only crying because everyone else was.

When the door opens and John enters the room I'm not sure I can handle any more pain.

There is this moment where we just stare at each other from opposite ends of the room, the pain left over from my family's farewell feeling like a barrier between us, as though it's something all too real and raw. Then John breaks through it, reaching me in a few of the longest steps I've ever seen anyone ever take, before he wraps me in his arms and kisses me.

It's a brief kiss and when he pulls away from it he rests his forehead against mine, a choked sob escaping from the back off his throat.

"I had to do it, just once."

"I always thought you were joking when you said you liked me." I stammer, wrapping my arms around him even tighter. His cheeks crease into what might be a smile, but I can't exactly tell from this line of sight. It could just as easily be a grimace.

"I do have a habit of hiding my feelings through comedy."

"You've never really been that funny though."

"I know." He sighs, pressing his head down into my shoulder. There is another long moment of silence before he speaks again, and from the way his voice sounds I can tell he's been hiding his tears against my shirt. "I can't lose you Demeter."

"You won't lose me. I'll win this thing, just you watch."

This time I know he's smiling, I can feel his mouth move upwards with his cheeks against my shoulder. "Of course you will, you've won every fight you've ever picked."

"Only because I've always had you there to back me up." I say without even thinking, realizing too late how doomed it makes be sound when his whole body stiffens up in my arms, like he's just been stabbed with a knife, the blade twisting around in his spine. "I'm sorry," I splutter, but he just shakes his head.

"Don't worry about it."

We stay like this, wrapped up in each other's arms, standing in the centre of the room like some sad ancient stature for the next few minutes before the peacekeepers come in and tell us time is up.

"Please, just a few more minutes," I whine, wrapping my arms tightly around his waist. They respond by each taking hold of one of his shoulders and tearing us apart, throwing me back into the painful aura of the room. It's too much for me to handle and I start screaming. "No! Please no! No! John!"

"Demeter I love you!" he shouts as the door is pulled shut, leaving me all alone in this awful room. I fall into a heap on the floor, all the fear based adrenaline I'd acquired at the reaping fading away.

"I love you too." I sob, even though he can't hear me. No one can hear me now.

If anyone's listening I doubt they even care.

**Lewis Natbotch, 15, D5**

A peacekeeper leads me out the back entrance of the Justice Building, where Kippy and Jane are waiting beside a car. I haven't had enough time to fully process this whole situation and I immediately start to feel panicky when I see the car, because I know it's going to take me to the train station, which will take me to the Capitol.

I don't even want to think about what comes after that. I am not ready for that at all.

Kippy smiles at me as I approach, her face so unusually warm and friendly for what I'd expect from someone who delivers children to their doom for a day job. "Have you ever been in a car Lewis?" She asks.

"No, I haven't."

Her face lights up and she opens the door to the backseat. "Neither has Jane. I think you'll both enjoy this quite a lot!" she says, before her expression changes to one of complete horror. "Oh, I must sound so ignorant, forgive me children. I know nothing about this feels enjoyable for you right now, I just mean that it's one of the, well, few perks, you know?"

Jane and I both nod and the smile returns to Kippy's face. "Ok good, I really don't want to offend you, I am here to help you win after all. Anyway we better get going!"

She enters the car first, followed by Jane and then me. I don't recognize the driver but I'm sure he's someone from our district, which makes me wonder whether he always drives the tributes to the station. Judging from the reflection of his face I can see in the rear vision mirror I can tell he's not enjoying today's delivery, that's for sure.

Beside me Jane is fiddling with her pocket again, and I can just see the end of the object she's been struggling to pry her hands from since she was pushed up onto that stage. It's a small book, with a red leather bound cover. It must have cost a pretty penny and I can't help but wonder how she managed to become the owner of such a thing.

"That's a pretty book you've got there." I whisper, my heart hammering hard against my chest as I say it. It's a struggle for me to talk to people I don't know, so this is a big deal for me.

Her head snaps accusingly in my direction, her eyes wide and fearful. "Pardon?"

"The-the book, the one you've got in your pocket. It's pretty." I stammer.

"Oh." She says, pushing it back down so the top of it isn't poking out anymore. "Thank you. It's my token."

"Where'd you get it?"

"That doesn't matter." She says and turns her face away from me. I shrink back in my seat.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you or anyth…"

"No, don't be sorry, it's ok."

"Oh!" Kippy interrupts, her attention finally coming back to us after being lost to the sights of the district through the windows. "Look, there are bunnies in that field out there! Have you ever seen anything so adorable in your whole entire life as that?"

We both smile and nod, humouring her, and with a satisfied nod herself Kippy leans back against her seat.

"I just love the countryside."

**Cyra Hale, 15, D7**

Larry leads Luke and me to one of the train carriages, stopping in the doorway. "Now I'm sure you two are starving from the whole reaping stress, so I think you'll love what's behind this door."

He slides it open and ushers us inside with a wild gesture. What I see almost makes my eyes drop out of my head.

There is no denying this is the dining cart and it's exactly as everyone describes it. The whole place is absolutely teeming with food. There is a bench in the far corner covered in every sort of fruit you can think of, all arranged in mini pyramids with whole pineapples balancing precariously on top. The actual dining table has more food on it than my family sees in a year, I'm sure of it. Strange pastries in every single color you can imagine with small pots of melted chocolate by their side, piles and piles of fried vegetables surrounding white puffy bread rolls, with the centre of the table taken up by one whole turkey, its skin coated in some strange bright pink marinade.

It's paradise for the starving, that's for sure.

"You two will be fine in here while I go find your mentor won't you?" Larry asks, one of his tongue studs flicking out of his mouth as he says it.

"Of course." Luke replies, perhaps a little bit too hastily. Not that I can blame him, I'm pretty eager to be left alone with the food as well.

"Fabulous." Larry simpers, his eyes sweeping over us with smug satisfaction. "I'll see you two shortly."

As soon as the door slides shut Luke sprints over to the dining table, tearing one of the turkey legs off and almost sticking the whole thing in his mouth all at once. "Oh my god." He moans through a mouthful of food, while shovelling a pile of fried potatoes into one of the bread rolls.

After he finishes his turkey leg he seems to realize I haven't joined him yet, and his face flushes bright red. "Oh, I'm so sorry; you must think I'm a massive pig right now."

"No no no really I don't."

"It's just I've hardly eaten anything all week and what I have eaten has been cabbage and.."

"No," I cut in, taking a seat beside him. "You don't need to explain yourself. I'm just a bit overwhelmed; I've got no idea where to start."

The color fades from his cheeks, and he smiles back at me, but I notice that he's more reserved, like he's being careful not to reveal too much through it. "Might I suggest the turkey then?"

"Ok then." I say as I pull one of its wings off and take a bite. It tastes so strange, like a thousand berries exploding in my mouth while the meat dissolves like butter on my tongue, but it's so strange it's delicious. Either that or I'm so hungry I don't even really care.

"Nice?" He asks, fitting as much of his potato roll into his mouth as possible.

"Nice? It's to die for."

**Jarred Emery, 17, D2**

Rose and I are sitting opposite our mentors in the dining cart, one of which just so happens to be her father, Atticus. I already know he'll focus all his attention on her, something which I'm not going to begrudge against him, so I decide to focus my attention on Nymeria instead. She's my best bet.

"You two needn't worry," Nymeria says, looking at both Rose and myself, even though we both know she's really directing it at the father daughter duo. "I've already been contacted by Quattra and she says both the tributes from 1 will be excellent allies."

"Have you heard from Wilhelm or Saline from 4?" Atticus asks, his voice anxious.

Nymeria nods. "Yes. They aren't your traditionally trained careers this year, but I think we both know that doesn't mean their tributes will be useless." She pauses for a moment, smiling smugly. "Not that they'll be a threat to our two of course. They never are."

Atticus rolls his eyes and I know he knows Nymeria is smugly referring to her own games, in which she dispatched both the tributes from 4 all by herself, the day before she took on her district partner in the finale. Two to one and she still came out the winner. At first Atticus looks like he's going to say something back to her, but instead he turns to look at me, his face stern. "I know you've probably already written those two from 4 of as weaklings Jarred and I don't blame you. What I don't want you doing, however, is writing off my daughter."

I roll my eyes. "What do you take me for Atticus? A fool? Anyone with half a brain cell to rub together would know she'll be a huge sponsor magnet, probably one of the game's biggest, seeing as she's your daughter and all."

"Don't you think that would make me a threat?" Rose questions, entering the conversation for the first time. While we've all been talking strategy for the last hour and a half she's said not even one word until now.

"Of course." I sneer, "You're a massive threat, but while the Career alliance is active you'll be a very valuable asset."

"He's not lying about that." Nymeria interjects, filling her glass up with a clear liquid that smells like lighter fluid. "The careers often end up labelled, well, how should I put it Atticus?"

"As villains." He replies.

"Precisely. If, and this is a big if, you somehow lose control of the supplies or wind up without any food, her influence outside the arena will be invaluable in keeping you guys fed. Not to mention she'll probably soften the career image a little bit."

"Aside from all this stuff, do either of you think I have any chance of winning?" Rose asks, her voice sounding just as anxious as her father's had before, just a few decibels higher.

"Of course." Atticus says, though I'm not all that certain he fully believes it.

"Stranger things have happened." Nymeria muses, downing the last of the foul liquid in her glass as she does so. "But not very often."

**Russell Darcy, 14, D6**

The Pyjamas that they've laid out for Katie and I are grey silk and I feel strange wearing them, like it's just not right. After being grilled by Otis and our Mentor, Chuxter, who's about as helpful as a penguin would be at this point, it was nice to be excused for the evening. Now I'm not enjoying it so much. I feel too common to be in these lovely clothes, sitting on these luxurious sofas and eating all this strange and delicious food.

Katie is sitting on the loveseat across from me, her legs wrapped up in her arms tightly, staring out the window. I feel a pang of sadness as I look at her. Even though she's only two years younger than me, she's still so much more of a child than I am. From what she's said today I know that she's an orphan and that there wouldn't have been a single person who loved her saying their last goodbyes to her in the Justice Building. Just one of the old matrons from the orphanage, who probably didn't know her face any better than the other little wretches she cares for. It breaks my heart a little bit.

"How are you feeling?" I ask her, my voice sounding far too loud against the humming of the train.

She waits a moment before replying, her expression unreadable. "I feel sad I guess, and scared."

"Me too." I mumble, pulling the sleeves of my shirt down to cover my hands.

We sit in silence for a few minutes before she speaks again. "You got a family Russell?"

"Yeah," I reply, "A mum, a dad and a little brother, his name's Fitz"

"Sounds nice." She says, her quiet little voice quivering slightly. I feel a lump start to form in the centre of my chest.

"They are pretty nice, yeah. I'm sorry about your family. That must be hard."

She shakes her head fast. "No don't be sorry. It's been a while now. I hardly even miss them that much anymore to be honest."

"Oh, that's good I suppose. I don't want to be rude, but do you mind if I ask what happened to them?"

"That's fine, I don't mind." She turns her head away from me, looking back out the window like before. "Someone set our house on fire one night. I was lucky enough to get out alive, but they were all trapped inside and burned to death."

"That's horrible. Did they ever catch who did it?"

She's quiet for a while and I start to think that I've crossed the line, but then she clears her throat and talks again.

"No, they haven't. I don't think they ever will."

**Gray Atrium, 16, D10**

I cried myself to sleep last night. As shameful as that is to admit, I did it. I was fine until I started wondering how many tributes had slept in my bed and I realized that none of them had ever come back. It was such a horrifying thought that I just couldn't handle it.

I kept thinking that I was probably going to wind up dead now like them as well.

I've been sitting at the breakfast table for over an hour when Jay finally appears. Roland unsurprisingly is still a no show.

She sits down on one of the seats across from me and after a few moments of indecision starts spreading what looks to be some kind of green jam onto a bagel. Yesterday we both ate so much it was a surprise that neither of us wound up exploding, but today I'm feeling sick from the mad binge. All I've managed to get down is half a glass of orange juice and a few pieces of sliced apple coated in caramel.

"What is that stuff?" I ask her as she takes a bite of the bagel.

"I actually can't work out what it tastes like." She says, scrunching up her nose in what I'm guessing is disgust.

"'l take it it's not very nice then."

"Not really." She mumbles, dropping the bagel back down on the table. "Maybe I'm just not that hungry though."

"We did eat a lot, didn't we?" I groan, my stomach gurgling, as though it wants to help prove my point.

"Might as well do it while we can." She sighs. "We'll probably be dead soon anyway."

"If I'm going to die, I want it to be by caramel coated apple."

She looks up at me with a grin on her face. "I think I'd rather death by chocolate."

In this way of meaningless banter and ridiculous conversations, we keep each other's minds occupied and away from cruel thoughts right up until Roland appears. For the shortest of whiles it's almost like we're just a pair of kids on a scenic rail tour, stuffing our faces as much as we can before our parents catch us, not a pair of kids who are about to be pitted against each other in a fight to the death.

Almost.

**Spencer Lux, 15, D11**

"You've got me, I can't spy anything beginning with P, inside or outside the carriage." I sigh, throwing my hands up in defeat. Gesha, in an attempt to keep us entertained, has forced both Rye and me to play 'I Spy' since breakfast and as yet I haven't won a single game. Rye's won basically every single one, but that's just because she's cheating.

"It was a Pegasus." Rye smirks at me from across the table.

"That's not fair, they don't even exist." I groan. "You can't spy something that doesn't exist."

"Oh but I just did you see. In my mind."

"I can't see into your mind though so how is that fair?"

"Life's not fair Spencer, why should this stupid game be?"

She's got me there and she damn well knows it too. "F-fine. Point taken. Just try and at least pick something real this time."

"Alright alright." She pushes herself up on her knees and turns to look out the window. "I spy with my little eye, something beginning with…..Capitol."

For a moment I think she's just messing with me again and I'm about to give up and go sit in the lounge area, when I realize she's got her face pressed hard against the glass, both hands on either side as well. I slide myself up to look out the window and end up doing the same.

"Ca-Ca-Capitol." I stutter, completely in awe of what I'm looking at. I've seen plenty of footage of what the Capitol looks like over the years, but nothing could ever compare to what it looks like in real life. Even from all this way across the dam it's radiating power, beauty and grace in a way that District 11 never could. It doesn't look like the kind of place where a group of people sit in some room year after year, plotting how best to kill twenty–four of the nation's children in an elaborate death game. It looks too pristine and pure for something as horrific as that.

"It's s-s-o.."

"Old and Tacky." Rye says, but I can tell it's not what she really thinks. She's just saying that because she doesn't want to admit how beautiful this place is. I'm glad she cut in and finished my sentence for me because now I feel like a fool, the kind that falls for a pretty face and completely disregards how terrible the person behind the perfect features actually is.

The Capitol might be beautiful beyond measure to look at, but we both know all too well that behind all that, it's rotten to the core.

* * *

**I got this finished a lot faster than I thought I would. After much deliberation I decided to just merge the goodbyes with the train rides, as I'm sure you can see XD**

**I know a few characters didn't get POV's this chapter, but don't fret, they'll definitely have one in the next chapter, and I'm going to try my best to make sure every character is mentioned in each chapter until, well, they die hehehehe. **

**Yes, I do realize that I haven't included District 4. I just realized that now and I feel terrible! I'm so sorry guys, I won't forget them next time. (if it helps they get mentioned in Jarred's POV and you get to find out their mentors names so at least they haven't been completely excluded)**

**Now, for two important little things ya'll need to know.**

**1- I'm going away on holiday from the 4th of November to the 12th, so during that period of time I probably won't be able to update. I'm terribly sorry about this! I might get the next chapter up before then but I can't make any promises.**

**2- If you read the last chapter, you might have seen that I've created a poll to see who everyone's favorite tributes in the story are. You probably also noticed that it didn't work :S I've fixed that little problem and it works fine now, and might I just say the choices so far have been so different and interesting, I love it! So if you haven't voted for your 5 favorites yet please do :)**


	15. Prep and the Parade

**Grant Green, 13, D4**

"Brace yourselves children, you're about to be thrown into a mad house." Saline jokes as we make our way to the trains exit. Through the windows hundreds of Capitolites are lined up, pushing and shoving each other to try and get to the front of the barriers, all waving and cheering, calling out our names. When we'd first pulled into the station Brynn had waved back with a big fake smile spread across her face, like Wilhelm had told us to, but eventually even she couldn't hide her nerves. Or perhaps the waving lunatics at the window made her feel just as uncomfortable as they made me.

They were cheering for our eventual deaths after all. There's no point dancing around that fact.

Before they open the door Saline stops us in the empty end of the compartment it occupies, while Wilhelm waves at the crowd through the tiny square window. "Ok, remember what we told you. Act confident, engage the public; make them like you. That's what this is all about. This is the first test."

"Got it." Brynn says, nodding her head enthusiastically. I can already see the confidence she momentarily lost on our walk through the train creeping back over her features, the sparkle in her eye, the all too peppy and proud posture that I know is just a ruse.

"Great." Saline turns to look at me, "You got it Grant?"

"Yes." I reply. I know my face must be as disinterested as I intended for it to be, because Saline doesn't look like she believes me at all.

"Alright guys, this is it, show time." Wilhelm crows as he presses the red button to our right, opening the door. The noise that pours through once the airlock is broken is –for lack of a better word- surreal. The people are screaming, giggling, chanting our names, over and over again. It's such a massive difference to the back track of complete silence we'd just been enveloped in that I go to cover my ears in shock.

Saline slaps my hands back down and gives me a severe look, one full of warning. "Confidence Grant." She whispers harshly. Then we're out among the masses, our mentors in the lead while Castel hobbles along at the rear.

A group of Peacekeepers swarm around us, each positioned for the offensive. It's sort of ludicrous really, that they are trying to protect us from any harm caused by crazed fans, when they're only keeping us alive so we'll die at a later date.

Beside me Brynn is playing the part of your average District 4 tribute perfectly, smiling and waving at the crowd, as well as blowing kisses at a select few. _Typical Career stuff, _I think to myself. All the Career girls seem to put on a show like this. It's obvious Brynn's following the district tradition, even if she hasn't had any formal training.

Or maybe she has, what would I know?

What I do know is that I should be doing the same; I should be working my ass off to make all these people like me. There's just something that feels so wrong about that, and as much as I want to pretend I'm something that I'm not, I know I won't be able to do it. So instead I walk stoic and silent beside Brynn, making a point of avoiding all eye contact with any of those foul creatures behind the barriers, screaming out my name as though they've known me their whole life.

I know all too well how quickly they'll forget it once I die.

**Rose Stroud, 17, D2**

"Sweet Jesus, Clea come and have a look at this," one of my prep team -a man with bright purple skin- calls out as he enters my cubicle. "I've never seen one so clean before!"

A tall lanky looking woman with tiny little stars attached to her eyelashes walks around the corner, rolling her eyes. "Of course you haven't, she's a Victor's daughter." As though she's not entirely convinced that's good enough of an explanation she looks toward me, a gigantic fake smile stretching across her pointy face. "Showers, soap and reliable hot water are some of the perks they get, right?"

"Right." I assure her.

"I thought so." She turns back to the man and says, "I think we'll only have to shape her eyebrows and give her hair a bit of a trim, the ends look a bit dead. Maybe give her a very light hosing, on the low setting."

"You don't want to do any waxing?"

"It doesn't look like we've got anything to work with in that area, her legs look pretty smooth. I assume razors are another perk dear?"

She says the last part of the sentence loud, so loud I know the tributes in the cubicles next to me can probably hear, and I feel the blood rush into my cheeks. Sometimes I hate the fact that up until now my life has been easy as pie, and I know some people back home have resented me for it. Not that I blame them, I would hate me too if I had nothing and some stupid little girl was being given everything on a silver platter. I'm sure it's going to make me just as popular with some of the poorer tributes, that's for sure.

"Yes," I mumble. "They would be another perk."

Clea smiles that same sickly sweet fake smile at me, before running one of her fingers down the length of my calf. "hmm, I think we'll just book her in for a wax before the interviews."

The man nods, pulling a white tablet the size of his palm from his pocket and jabbing away at it. "Done, it's in the itinerary."

"Excellent." She turns back to me and says, her voice high pitched as ever, "Your parents must be so proud."

At the mention of my parents I feel my stomach twist into a knot, and for a brief second I think I'm going to throw up all over myself and take myself from squeaky clean all the way to putrid and smelly, but instead I relax and force a smile onto my face, just as fake and sickly sweet as Clea's.

"Proud of me?" I laugh, "You've got no idea."

**Rye Goldsmith, 16, D11**

When they first pushed me into the shower -funny little screened up cubicle within my cubicle- I'd been so excited by the prospect of a luxury I'd taken for granted back when I lived with my family , that when they came at me with the hose I'd initially thought I was in a dream. Then the water hit me hard, making the nerves in my body scream out until they somehow got used to the needle like feeling of the water pelting at my skin, over and over again.

"Don't you guys have regular showers in the Capitol? It's so weird; I thought you were way more progressive than this."

The woman holding the hose looks at me dead pan, and then answers matter of factually. "Of course we have regular showers. They just don't possess sufficient strength to clean some of you wretched kids. Might I add you're the dirtiest creature I've ever had to hose down."

"Why thank you, I do try."

"No I don't think you try." The woman replies, missing the point entirely.

"Oh I think you know I try." I quip back, getting excited over the possibility of an entertaining conversation.

"Try at what?"

"You know I try but you pretend you don't because if you admitted you knew I was trying you'd be lying about me not trying."

"I beg your pardon?" She asks, her eyes twitching back and forth as she tries to sort out the complete nonsense I've just spat out at her.

"You Capitolites, honestly, can't even understand your own language. And to think I thought this was a progressive sort of place."

"Ok that's enough." A deep voice bellows from behind the curtain. "Turn off the hose Ettie, before the kid messes with your head even more."

The woman in front of me immediately twists the nozzle, stopping the water from assaulting my skin, before handing me a towel. It's purple, and feels softer than any of the fabrics even my father owned back in his wretched house. I dry myself off as best I can and then slip the green plastic gown over myself, before stepping back out into the cubicle.

The owner of the deep voice is a young man, whose face is stern, but perhaps only because of the way his eyebrows have been sculpted. "Your Escort warned me about you." He says, frowning. "She said you're a bit of a handful."

"I'm a bit more than a handful actually, but that's getting into specifics, and I don't know you all that well to be bothered with that."

"You talk too much you know."

"Some might say that would work in my favor?"

"Not if you keep trying to undermine every person you come across. Nobody likes a smart alec. Then again what do I know? I'm just the stylist."

I go to say something else but he holds his hand up, effectively stopping me from speaking with a simple gesture. I've never understood how that works.

"No, we don't have time for further discussion. Your legs need waxing."

"What do you mean waxing?" I ask, imagining myself being dipped into a vat of boiling wax, like in some of the horror stories I'd heard some of the kids tell back when I was younger.

My stylist smiles smugly, "You'll see my dear, you'll see."

**Vivian May, 16, D8**

My outfit for the parade is something like a cross between a patchwork quilt and a pair of long johns, and for the last twenty minutes my stylist has been busily sewing me into it. Airick has long since been outfitted and sent out to prepare for the parade, but a few alterations had to be made with my suit; apparently I'm a lot smaller around the waist than what they'd thought I'd be, and when they first dressed me the fabric hung around my sides, like the sagging skin of an aging Capitolite who can't afford to have it tucked back up again.

For the first five minutes, I scrutinized every corner of the room, but there really wasn't anything to look at; just a bench, a chair, mirrors on every wall. After that I spent a good five minutes scrutinizing the changes the Capitol had made to my appearance. My hairs been curled into tight sausage curls, kind of like the ones you see on the dolls some of the richer girls back home had. According to my stylist, that's the look they're going for, the perfect porcelain dolls from 8.

When looking at my own reflection started to feel a little bit strange, I instead decided to inspect the squares on my suit. There didn't seem to be much of a pattern to the squares, most were either blue or white, but there were a few maroon ones with little pictures stitched onto the surface. Sometimes they were pictures of boys, sometimes they were girls. There was one constant however; in each square, the little character was dying.

"What's the deal with the pictures?" I ask timidly, breaking the silence that had filled the room since the stylist introduced herself. I think her name was Berthi, but I'm not too sure.

"Oh, I'm glad you noticed! Well after those atrocious curtain outfits Zardo had the tributes wearing last year, we decided to go back to an old classic, with a brand new symbolic twist. The little stitched pictures are all the death scenes of the District 8 kids over the years. "Berthi says, pointing excitedly at one just above my bellybutton. "That's year twenty-five, the year it was set in the swamp. The boy's name was Augustus."

I look down at the image she's referring to, of a boy sinking slowly into a pit of mud, his threaded face looking terrified, and force myself to smile at her. "It's beautiful."

"I'm glad you like it. Every year we try to incorporate something to do with the dead kids in it, it's sort of a tradition for 8. This is of course the most elaborate effort we've gone to though. Usually we just stitch their initials on it somewhere."

"That's so…thoughtful." I stammer, even though it makes me feel sick. As she smiles and keeps going on about all the other pictures, poking and prodding the little faces she's stitched with such care onto this patch work costume, I can't help but wonder what my name, or image will be incorporated into next year. Unless of course, I somehow manage to survive the games.

Seeing as though there is a large amount of faces threaded onto this suit, my hopes aren't all that high.

**Hercules Strong, 18, D9**

"I know we're supposed to be sad and stuff about all this, but how freaking awesome are these suits?" I say to Demeter as we make our way down to where the chariots are waiting. "We look like Gods!"

"I think that's the desired effect," Demeter mumbles, fixing the laurel of gold frosted wheat stalks on her head with shaking hands.

"Well anyway, it's about time I got the recognition I deserved."

"Technically speaking, you're not even named after a god. You're the son of a god."

"I'm a halfblood then, best of both worlds."

"I think the term you're looking for is demigod."

"Well I don't know what books you've had your nose stuck in, but I'm sticking with the classic term thank you."

Demeter doesn't reply, and instead just starts muttering under her breath, something she's been doing a lot of since the train ride. Knowing this means our conversation has come to a close, I decide to focus on what's going on around us. There are people everywhere; people leading horses around, people adjusting the chariots, people running water or messages back and forth between the escorts and mentors. At first amongst all the hustle and bustle it's hard to see any of the other tributes, but then a pair of them catch my eye, only briefly, before a swarm of people block them from sight. They are dressed in minimal, tribal clothes, with eccentric head pieces that look like twisted together bones and war paint all over their faces and bodies. I'd be lying if I said they didn't look intimidating.

Demeter must have seen them too, because she turns to me and says, "Do you think they're Careers?"

"I'm going to be more specific and say they're from 2."

"What makes you think that?"

"It's a very aggressive kind of outfit, don't you think? 2 always go for something like that."

"They could have been from 10, the bones might represent livestock." Demeter questions, but just as the words leave her mouth a girl decked out in full cow girl apparel comes into view. "Well I take that back, definitely not 10."

"What a shame, it would have been nice for them to go with something different this year." I laugh as the girl from 10 awkwardly tries to walk without the spurs attached to her legs dragging on the ground.

Demeter nods in agreement.

**Jane Rooke, 18, D5**

_Dear Jason,_

_It's funny really, right now I'm sitting in the only part of the games I could ever bring myself to admit I enjoyed watching; the parade. Of course I'm not actually writing this mid-way through the actual event. I might be mad, but I'm not stupid. It would be very hard to try and keep my hand steady enough to write while I was careening along in a chariot. Right now I'm just sitting with Lewis while we wait to be told it's our time to go strut our stuff down that runway. _

_Technically the horses will be the ones strutting, but it's our stuff they're showing off._

_I think I like District 4's costumes the best. They've had their bodies sprayed the color of sand, and around their waist and the girls chest they are wearing these intricate three dimensional things that look like brightly lit pieces of coral. There's even little holographic fish darting around and in between the pair of them. I think their stylists must have their suits connected to pull that off, which might I say is very impressive. Before they were standing at opposite ends of the chariot and a fish swam through the air from the boy to the girl. It was so beautiful. I don't think either of them noticed though. Actually I don't think anyone but I did._

_I guess it was a special little moment just for me._

_They've got me and Lewis connected as well, costume wise. You'd laugh if you saw what they've got us wearing. It's hideous. They've done something to our hair to make it stand up straight, and they've draped us all over in thick gray cables, the kind you see on power lines. I don't mean just a few of them here and there either, its literally a huge tangled mess._

_The stylist said we were supposed to be power lines (I know you didn't see that one coming) but I've never seen any lines like this in my life._

_I wonder if they're electrified? It'd be a shame if something went wrong with the costume and they ended up dead before the games even started. Then again, maybe they'd be glad if something like that happened. I don't know whether I would or not. Right now none of this feels real yet. I guess it will in a couple of days._

_I'm so scared Jason._

**Aria mallow, 18, D1**

Brock and I look like a pair of glittering jewels. My dress and his tunic are covered in tiny little diamonds, and we've both got little blue gems frosted across our shoulders and threaded through our hair. Our lips have been painted silver, to match the incredible eye shadow we're both wearing. Apparently we're supposed to look like a snow king and queen. When they said that Brock joked that I was living up to my namesake.

It hurt a little bit.

"Alright alright can we please get Districts 1, 2, 3, and 4 ready? This show is about to start people!" one of the assistants screeches at us through his mouth piece. Our mentors push as towards our chariot, which is being led by a white horse to match our theme, something our stylists say was a very hard favor to pull.

"Usually they use all the same colored horses," Mine had said, "but this year we convinced the game makers to alternate between black and white."

I think it seems like a pretty trivial detail. In a week no one will remember what we wore in the parade. It's never really made all that difference to how the public view us. 1 is always something beautiful and 12 are always coal miners. Nothing ever changes except what arena is and who the pawns forced to play inside it are.

Even then, they usually stick to their archetypes.

"Nervous?" Brock asks as they lead our chariot to the opening, getting ready to send us on our way.

I swallow hard and try not to look at him. He's been driving me mad with questions like this since we got in the car out the back of the Justice Building. "No more than I was yesterday. You?"

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't." he says, catching me by surprise. I'd expected him to answer all macho and cocky like he usually does, brushing the question aside with a silly joke. I look up at his face, expecting to see it twist into a smirk and for him to say "Gotcha Sallow Mallow!" but instead I'm greeted with the scared little boy I met years ago in training. I don't know how to reply, and even though it goes against all my better judgement I reach my hand forward and squeeze the one he's gripping the chariot with.

"You'll be fine."

"I'm always fine." He replies, just as the man starts screaming at us all through his microphone again.

"Lights, camera, action people this show is a rolling!"

**Luke Pallas, 17, D7**

One by one each of the chariots disappear through the opening and into what sounds like thousands of people screaming at the top of their lungs. The Career chariots get the loudest applause. There's a strange sort of noise that follows District 6's chariot; my guess is it has something to do with the sweet little girl they've got dressed up as a train conductor. Poor little thing.

Before I even have time to properly process any of it our horses start moving, and I find myself gripping onto the rail in front so tight my knuckles go white. It's not only that though, it's also to keep myself steady, because every time I move my outfit stabs me somewhere. Someone thought it'd be a great idea to dress Cyra and I in medieval garb made entirely out of pine needles. She at least looks nice in her floor length gown. I still don't think it's pretty enough to warrant the discomfort we're feeling though.

The chariot edges closer and closer to the entrance, and with each step the horses take the noise outside grows louder and louder. Then finally our horses step across the line separating backstage from the parade, and we are thrown into the spotlight.

The runway we're travelling down is lined on either side with purpose built grandstands, each teeming with thousands of multi-coloured human beings jumping and writhing forwards, all screaming things that have been made intelligible against each other. Above us long banners hang evenly spaced down the road, and it's surprising to see my face projected on each and every one, as well as Cyra's. Despite all the dark make up they painted her face with and the fierce amount of bronzer they painted my cheeks with in an attempt to hollow them out, making me look more intimidating, we both look like a pair of scared little children, the muscles in our faces drawn tight and our eyes full of water, darting each and every way. Then as quickly as our faces appeared on the banner they are gone, replaced with the equally frightened faces of the pair from 8.

A few chariots ahead of me I can see the pair from 4, both of whom appear to be standing strong and stoic. The girl is even raising her hand to wave at the crowd occasionally. This is what I need to look like, fearless, not some boy shrinking against his equally frightened district partner. Even though I know I'll never be able to change the image that was just projected on those banners, I can start trying to make up for it now. So with a deep breath, I push my shoulders back, and try to prove to the screaming masses on either side of me that I've got as much of a chance to win this thing as the rest of these kids.

**Cole Mackenzie, 14 D12**

District 9 looks phenomenal in their Greek style outfits, much better than District 10. They've got it as bad as us, the same outfit rehashed year after year, with only the most minor of adjustments. Even though I don't know either of them, I can't help but feel a sort of camaraderie towards them. We are both easily the worst dressed districts, and that's saying something, considering that District 5 is a tangled mess of cables. I don't even know what that's supposed to signify.

The crowd is a lot less vocal as we enter the strip. That's not to say they aren't making any noise at all; there's still plenty of hooting and hollering going on, it's just nowhere near as loud as the welcome the Career districts or the more inspired outfits received.

The lights on our helmets keep blinking sporadically, making the twined together apple blossom outfit the kids from 11 are wearing sort of glow ahead of us. "That's depressing." Modest whispers, through her teeth, more to herself than to me. "Figures we end up making one of the other Districts look even better than they already did."

I think about saying something to try and cheer her up, something along the lines of "Don't worry, maybe they'll be nice to us because we've made them look lovely" but the chariot is moving much too fast and I'm so nervous about it all that I can't get any words out. Instead I just shake my head awkwardly, and continue staring straight ahead, at the billowing banners with our worried faces adorning them, the blinking lights of our helmets going from light to dark, light to dark.

**Jay Bird, 14, D10**

After the parade we go straight back to the apartment. We end up having to share the lift with the kids from 3, as well as their mentors, and Escorts, which is a little bit uncomfortable. The short girl from 3 busily plays with the zipper on her blinking, spotty unitard while the boy stands behind her, looking straight ahead in the mirror behind our heads. Most people probably would have been too shocked by the thin puckered scar running down the left side of his face, but I've seen plenty worse scars back home. Instead I find myself looking at the hand he's got resting on the girls shoulder, his fingers gripping them tight in reassurance. In comparison Gray and I are standing as far from each other as we possibly can, and it makes me think that they must know each other somehow. Before I can think much more about it the elevator makes a loud buzzing noise and the door snaps open. The team from 3 leave, and then the door snaps shut again.

When we get to our floor an avox is ready and waiting with a tray of fizzing drinks, each and every one a different color. Roland reaches up on tip toes and grabs a glass of violet liquid, downing it in one swig. "Delicious! It's strictly non-alcoholic of course. You two should try some."

It looks unbelievably appetizing, so I reach out and take a glass of red liquid. It tastes like Cherries, strawberries and raspberries, all at once.

Roland looks up at me and grins. "Wonderful isn't it? Like an explosion of flavour in your mouth!" He leans over and pats Gray just above the knee. "You should try the green one my dear boy, it tastes like lime apple and watermelon!"

The avox leans the tray towards him, but Gray pushes it back lightly and shakes his head. "No thanks, I think I'll just go to bed."

"Well ok then, your room is down the hall to the left," Roland mumbles, his voice sounding disappointed. He turns back to me, his funny little eyes darting around nervously, and "You'll have another glass though, won't you?"

I seriously consider it, but as I watch Gray skulking away down the hall I decide against it. This is not a holiday after all. I shouldn't be wasting my time drinking expensive drinks with a merry little man who has never known pain in his life. I should be making every moment count, and right now sleep is the better alternative. I need to be as sharp as possible when they throw me into the training centre tomorrow. So instead, just like Gray I shake my head and say, "I think its best I try and get some sleep."

"Oh yes, of course. I completely understand." Roland enthuses, but I know he doesn't understand, not really. How could he? He can stay up all night for all it matters; no one is going to be judging his every move starting tomorrow. His life doesn't depend on whether or not he's functioning to the best of his ability. Not like ours does.

**Katie Chandler, 12, D6**

This Russel boy is a nice kid. One of those guys who's got a real friendly face, as sweet and welcoming as your favorite childhood teddy. The second we got back to the apartment after the parade I put on the waterworks, sobbing hysterically about how frightening it all was. The sucker fell for the act hook line and centre; he practically leaped over every piece of furniture to wrap me up in a big bear hug.

"Don't cry Katie," he soothes, brushing strands of my blonde hair away from my face.

"I ca-can't he-help it." I sob, forcing my voice to jump all over the place, in that hysterical way little kids do. "It was so scary."

"Hey, it wasn't that bad, and the crowd loved you to pieces!"

This makes me smile. The crowd adored me; they ate up the scared little girl routine. I can already imagine how many of them are making a mental note to sponsor the sweet angelic blonde girl from District 6. It's going to be fun when I show my true colours in the arena. They'll never see it coming. Neither will Russell, for that matter.

**Allius Winters, 17, D3**

It's almost midnight when I push the door to Flinch's room open. At first I worry that he's already asleep, but then through the pale moonlight shining through the window I see the sheets on his bed twist, and then a shadow moves in the darkness towards the head rest. "Is that you Ally?" He asks, his voice unsure.

"Yes," I squeak, peering around the door so he can see my face in the faint light. "I can't sleep."

There is the sound of sheets rustling again before I see his hand pat the empty space on the bed closest to where I'm standing. Without another word I shut his door behind me and climb in amongst the sheets, nestling my head in the crook of his arm. He's not wearing a shirt and I can feel the heat emanating from his skin through the fabric of my nightie, and it strikes me that this is the first time we've shared a bed since we were eleven years old. The soft, steady drum of his heart beats underneath the hand I've placed on his chest, and it's instantly soothing, it makes me feel safe.

"You ok?" He whispers, rolling around so that his face is in line with my own.

I press my head against his cheek and shake it slightly, before choking back a sob. "No, not at all."

"It'll be ok Ally. I'm going to get you out of this, I promise."

"I was worried you'd say that." I mumble, wrapping my arms around his neck, as though if I'm not holding onto him he'll disappear, as though it's up to me to keep him here with me, no matter what.

"Well I can't get out of a promise, so you'll have to stay worried." He jests, and as he does so I feel the skin around his cheeks wrinkle up into a faint smile, before he turns his head ever so slightly and gently kisses me on the forehead, making my skin tingle from the touch.

"God, I don't want to lose you Lightwood." I sigh, feeling sleep somehow take hold of me as I curl up closer against him. He scoffs quietly at that and kisses me again, this time on the cheek.

"I don't want to lose you either Winters, and I won't."

* * *

**Well I know I said I probably wouldn't be updating from the 4th-12th, but I've had a bit of free time while I've been holidaying.**

**So what do you guys think of the tributes so far? Who do you love? Who do you want to see bloodbathed/killed/torn apart by awful mutts? **

**This will be the final mention of the poll, and its to let you guys know it will be up until the chapter before the interviews.**

**Well I hope you guys are excited for training to start, I know I sure am! :)**


	16. Training: Day 1

**Lewis Natbotch, 15, D5**

As an official runs through a bunch of statistics regarding our possible and highly likely deaths, I can't help but feel like the training centre is a lot like school, just more physically demanding than mentally. There are the jocks and the bullies all standing together, eying the rest of us off with disinterest, like we're fathoms below them on the scale of things, which I guess, at least in this environment, is kind of true. Everyone else is a motley crew of your mid popular to painfully awkward weaklings, and as usual I'm at the lower end of the spectrum. I never thought the day would come where I'd actually wish I was as mean and nasty as the likes of the Adams brother's back home, but in this place, that kind of cruelty could only be helpful.

The official stops her speech and the group breaks apart, the Careers moving like a pack of wild dogs straight over to the weaponry section, while the rest of us split every which way. Jane wordlessly leaves my side and makes her way over to the camouflage station, sitting herself down on the ground before pulling the little red diary she's so obsessed with out of her pocket, scribbling away in it like her life depends on it. For a brief moment I consider following her, but instead I decide to just make my way over to the edible plants station. I like Jane, really I do, but I can't see her being much help in the arena. It'll be better for both of us if we just do our own thing from now on.

The boy from 7 is first there, and by the time I make my way over he's already flipping through one of the screens and matching the images on it with the bevy of plants in the tray to his left. He seems to fly through the thing until he comes across a delicate looking purple flower.

"That's a foxglove, it'll make you vomit." I mumble, rummaging through the tray and pulling out a similar purple flower. "This is what you're looking for; Fireweed. The flowers taste a bit like pepper, and you can eat the leaves and stalk as well."

He looks at me warily, not taking his eyes off me even when he places the foxglove back into the tray. "Thanks." Then he adds, almost as an afterthought, "I'm Luke, District 7."

"I'm Lewis, District 5." I stammer back.

**Jarred Emery, 17, D2**

Brock throws the spear and it sails effortlessly through the air, piercing the revolving dummy just above where on a live person you'd find ones belly button. He turns around and grins, winking at Rose, who to her credit only goes the slightest shade of pink. Aria, his district partner, rolls her eyes and walks off with the pair from 4.

"Nice shot." I say, taking a spear from the rack and training my eyes on the dummy. "But I can do better."

"Oh I seriously doubt that."

With one arm I throw the spear and it spikes right through the dummy's neck. Brock crosses his arms and shakes his head at me. "Great, aim, I'll give you that, but it's not a sure kill. More than likely you're just going to seriously maim someone with a shot like that."

I pick up another spear and twirl it around in my hand. "If I hit the jugular it'll end a lot quicker than your stomach shot, but I'm not really aiming to just straight up kill. I'm aiming for a good show." I turn around and gesture at the Gamemakers up on the balcony, all of which are lazily sipping wine and chatting amongst themselves. "That's what they want, after all."

"I don't think I'd want to die like that." Rose says, reaching a hand up and cupping the side of her throat, as though at any minute now a spear could come sailing through the air, and her hand being in that position will save her from any harm. If I wasn't so cold hearted, and if we weren't in a competition were our lives were at stake, I would have almost found that endearing.

**Brynn Halee, 17, D4**

It's hard work being a non-career tribute from a Career district. Sure, it's nice having the ticket into the most powerful alliance in the Arena, but trying to prove to the kids who've trained their whole lives for this that I'm worth their time, that's a whole different kettle of fish. The boys are both so arrogant and self-assured, and even though the boy from 1 has been flirting with me –and every other girl for that matter- I can tell he thinks I'm no real threat. The only one who really seems a little unsure of me is the girl from 2, whose father is an incredibly popular victor. I've got a feeling that she's got about the same amount of skills behind her as I do, probably even less, but no one wants to get on the wrong side of the daughter of a national treasure, especially when he has a big influence over what happens with our alliance in the Arena. So I've decided to just try and make them warm to me, as opposed to trying to prove I can throw a knife as good as the girl from 1. So far I'm not doing too bad.

The same however can't be said about Grant. He hasn't tried once to start a conversation with anyone, even Rose, who is so approachable, and he went off on his own when we visited the fire making station as a group, skulking around behind a pillar as Jarred and Brock worked on the embers. I know it's only the first day and he's probably a little bit nervous, but if he keeps just trying to melt into the background they'll kill him in the bloodbath for sure. District 4 may be a Career district, but if you don't impress the other kids, it'll be over within seconds of you stepping off the plate.

Right now he's sitting beside me fiddling with his fingernails, while we wait for Aria to finish her turn at the knife target station. "It's your turn next Grant."

"You just go again." He says, not once looking up from his hands.

"We've been here for half an hour though and you haven't had one go." I huff at him. I see the corner of his mouth twitch up into an almost smile, as though he's amused by my exasperation.

"That's because I'm not interested in having a go."

"If you keep up this whole disinterested thing you can say goodbye to being a Career then. I can't keep talking for you."

This seems to get his attention, because he finally forces his attention away from his hands and turns to look at me, and for the first time I realize how dark his eyes are. I'm not just talking about the color of them either, it's like in some places the color has faded away to black pools that reach into the very depths of his soul. Something about them is so sad, and for the life of me I don't want to be trapped in his gaze. I wish he'd just kept looking at his hands.

As calm as anything, as though what he's about to say is nothing but a footnote in the whole scheme of things, he says, "That's fine with me, because I don't want to be a Career." Then before I have the chance to get over the shock of such a revelation, and then ask him why, he gets up out of his seat and walks away to the climbing station, leaving me sitting with my mouth hanging open, absolutely dumbfounded.

**Flinch Lightwood, 17, D3**

Allius and I have been drifting from station to station like a pair of wayward tumbleweed. So far every station has been overwhelming. Neither of us is particularly capable in the weapons area, and our mentor left us with strict instructions to at least on this first day, when we're all likely to be scrutinizing each other the most, to not make fools of ourselves with things we don't know how to use. The only problem with that is it leaves us with very few options. District 3 is a very dense urban area, so unless the Arena is going to be an abandoned city, it doesn't look like many of our skills will come in handy.

"We could go to the fire building station," Allius suggests, pointing to the small station wedged in-between snares and food preparation. The pair from 12 are both there, busily preparing a fire together, with, from what I can tell, very little success. I'm not too sure about being in such close quarters with a pair of other tributes that we have to socialize with them, but it does seem a better option than the other stations, that are all teeming with tributes. The pair from 3 doesn't look like anything we should worry about; they both look a few good years younger than us.

"Sounds good." I say, lacing her fingers through mine and giving her hand a quick squeeze. She smiles up at me, but it's a weak smile, and it makes my heart ache. Allius is too good for all this. It's just not fair.

**Modest Kline, 14, D12**

Cole and I have been trying to light a fire for ages, and so far we're failing. Once or twice a few wisps of smoke have materialized, but just as soon as we start getting optimistic they vanish, and it's back to square one. If I was anywhere else I would have already given up by now and moved onto something else, but depending on the Arena, fire could very well mean life or death for us, so I'm going to keep working on this thing until it damn well starts burning, even if Cole wants to go try out the snares.

The pair from 3 joins us after a while, sticking to the opposite end of the station, both busily trying to get their own fire going. At first Cole and I pay little attention to them, trying to stay as focused as we can on the task at hand, but eventually they start to distract us. Every now and then I hear them whispering to each other, and occasionally the girl giggles. That's what gets me intrigued by them, her giggling. Cole and I struggle to even get three sentences said to one another, let alone make humorous anecdotes. It's enough of a curiosity to make me side-tracked from the task I've been working for what feels like eons on, and I decide to sneak a peek at the pair of them.

The girl is small, with wide blue eyes and that kind of wispy blonde hair all girls envy. The boy in comparison is much taller, stocky, with short red hair and the most unsightly looking scar I've ever seen stretching down his face. Both of them are hunched over a small pile of kindling, their bodies angled close to one another in a way that could only mean they were close friends before they were reaped, maybe even more than that. I'm so focused on trying to work out what exactly the extent of their relationship is that when the girl turns her head suddenly and looks in my direction, I don't have enough time to avert my gaze. Instead I wind up staring at her like some kind of crazy nutjob. Well, that's what I assume I must look like, because she shrinks back against the scarred boy, and stares at the floor, whispering words so low I'm not even sure a mouse would hear it.

The boy does though. His head turns slowly to find my own, and he looks at me with such caution, as though at any second I might turn into some rabid creature and rip his face off. At first I'm sort of offended by the intensity of his glare, but then I remember that it's more than warranted. We're all about to be thrown into an arena that only one of us is going to claw their way back out of. It's only natural that we start viewing each other not as children, but as enemies.

Cole doesn't seem to notice the tension in the air, only that we're all staring at each other. He turns to the boy, and with the biggest, dopiest smile on his face, extends his hand across our embarrassing excuse for a fire and says, "Hi there, I'm Cole."

At first, neither of them says anything. They just stare at the both of us blankly, about as shocked as I am by Cole's friendliness. Then they turn to look at one another, apparently having some kind of conversation through various facial expressions, before the boy looks back over at Cole. "I'm Flint. This is Allius."

"Flint, wow! The irony, am I right?" Cole chuckles, grinning from ear to ear.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand." Flint replies, his face just as confused as I'm feeling right now.

Cole just keeps on smiling away and points to a pile of sharp rocks and shards of metal in a small box to the right of us. "Flint, you know, the stuff they use to make a fire with, and here we are, at the fire station?"

There's a brief moment where the boy just smiles blankly back at him, but then he nods his head. "Well, that's a little weird isn't it?"

My sigh of relief that Cole hasn't just signed our death warrant is so loud I'm sure the Gamemakers up in their balcony could have heard it.

**Grant Green, 13, D4**

Lunch provides the perfect opportunity for me to prove to Brynn, and the other Careers that I don't want to be a part of their awful pack. From what Saline told us earlier this morning, the Careers traditionally all sit around the same table at lunch, while the kids from the other districts are in comparison spread out here there and everywhere. Jarred, Brock and Rose are already sitting down, their plates piled high with the more nutritious food items available from the buffet, and I can see Brynn and Aria a few paces ahead of me in the line, drizzling a strange orange sauce over the meat they've put on their own plates.

I decide to skip the savoury foods and go straight to the dessert cart, cramming as many blueberry tarts, teeny tiny cakes glazed with honey and dollops of cream onto my plate as I possibly can. Even as I do it I can hear Wilhelm's voice reaffirming the rules. _Career kids don't eat desserts. Eating those is just wasted time and energy. All food should be regarded as fuel from now onwards._

It's a good thing I've got no interest in being a Career then. Seeing as I've spent my whole life all too aware that food should be viewed more as a life source than one of pleasure, I think it's about time I was allowed to indulge myself. Every other kid here is, after all.

It's while I'm busily deciding where I want to sit that I see her for the first time. In the farthest corner of the room, there is this one solitary table, with only three chairs surrounding it, and on the farthest chair a girl is sitting hunched over some book, her plate of food only half nibbled at. She's older than me, She's actually way older than me, from what I can tell. I'm not one to usually try and socialize with people outside of my age group, but I figure that doesn't really matter here. It's not like we are here to make friends. So I take my food tray away from the dessert cart and start weaving my way through the tables towards her.

Here's the thing; up until this point in my life, I've never viewed girls as anything special or worth admiring. But when I hit the halfway point of my journey to the table, she looks up from her book, and even though I know she's not looking at me, that she's just looking around the room, my whole world changes. Just for one second, one completely insignificant second, her eyes sweep over in my direction, and they're this strange faded brown color, with flecks of gold placed sporadically over the places where the color seems like it might just disappear completely, as though its bleeding through the cracks whatever pain she's gone through has left behind. If what they say about eyes being windows to the soul is true, I swear on my life I've found the other half to the one hiding behind my irises.

In one second, I'm left completely infatuated to a girl I've never even spoken to before.

When I get to the table I place my tray down gently and try not to stare at her. For the most part her hair is covering her face, but I can see the book she's so enthralled with, just enough to realize it's more of a journal, and that she's busily scribbling away in it in thick, loopy cursive writing.

"Hey, whatcha doing?" I say, before I even have time to stop myself. Her whole body tenses up, like she wasn't even aware I was sitting beside her, and she drops the pen, peering at me through the long locks of brown hair that's acting like a barrier between us. Even through all the strands I can still see those eyes, and my heart starts beating so loudly I'm sure she can hear it.

"Writing. What are you doing?"

"Sitting next to you." I stammer, wanting to slap myself hard across the face after I say it. I could have said that I was eating my lunch but oh no, I had to embarrass myself didn't I? She laughs, making me blush so badly from embarrassment that I'm sure it'll almost be a fatal case, before she tucks the loose hair back behind her ear and smiles at me.

"You're an odd kid," She says, and I have to resist the urge to splutter back _"And you're very pretty."_ Instead I just try to laugh it off, before shoving a whole honey cake into my mouth to stop me from saying anything stupid, and to give me a bit of time to think of something normal to say. She watches me eat the cake, her eyes darting up and down with each crumb that breaks away and falls to the table, before she turns back to her journal and resumes writing in it.

We don't speak again for a good ten minutes, and in the time it takes me to deal with the fact that this is the only time I'll ever speak to her, she abruptly stops scribbling away in the book, and turns her head back in my direction. "What did you say your name was?"

"I didn't tell you my name."

"Oh, of course you didn't. What is it?"

"Grant, my name is Grant."

She smiles in reply, her mouth stretching wide enough for her teeth to show, all porcelain white thanks to the prep team I'm sure, and picks up her pen again. Even though I know it's rude to snoop, I lean forward just enough to see that she's writing my name in the book, and that's enough to make me feel giddy. _I'm good enough to go in her journal. Me. Grant Green. Journal. Good enough. Her._

"I can see you snooping." She mumbles, and then without even looking up adds, "By the way, I'm Jane."

"Nice to meet you Jane."

**Rye Goldsmith, 16, D11**

The pair from 9 are eating their lunch in an uncomfortable silence when I make my way over and plonk myself in the seat opposite the boy. Both of them look up from their plates nervously, studying me briefly, before returning to their meals.

"The name's Rye, like the grain, or grass, whatever it is you guys grow back home," I announce, stretching my hand out towards the burly boy across from me. "And you two are…"

They both say nothing for a few seconds, before the boy clears his throat and leans forward, grasping my hand in a grip so tight it takes all my strength not to wince or yelp in pain. "I'm Hercules, this is Demeter."

"Oh!" I gasp, welling up with excitement. "I remember you two! You're the Greek Gods from the parade aren't you? Loved the robes."

"Thanks," Demeter mumbles, spooning a large mouthful of multi-coloured beans into her mouth and chewing them slowly. Both of them seem to be reluctant to keep the conversation going, So I decide to just cut to the chase.

"I've been watching you train."

"Umm, ok then." Hercules snorts.

I ignore his snort and just keep pressing on. "You're both pretty handy, from what I've seen so far." I lean across the table, and beckon them closer, lowering my voice to a whisper. "I've got a proposition for you."

Hercules goes to say something, and I can already tell from the look on his face he's ready to tell me he's not interested, when Demeter holds her hand up in front of his face to shut him up. "I'm listening."

I can't help but smile smugly, before gesturing over to the table the Career kids are all congregated around. "I don't see why they should be the only ones who get the advantage of safety in numbers in the Arena."

"Maybe because they're all A grade killing machines?" Hercules whispers harshly. I just wave my hand around in his face and laugh.

"Oh please, my bet is only half of them are quality killers. The other half are probably no better off than we are. Maybe even less better off in some cases." I let my eyes linger on the girl from 2, the victor's daughter, who to my knowledge so far is yet to even pick up one weapon. "I've been thinking about it, and I want to make my own pack. An anti-career pack, and I want you two in it."

"Why would you want us?" Demeter asks, her face all furrowed together in confusion. "What makes you think we'll be worth your while?"

"Like I said," I begin, "I've been watching you guys train. I've been watching everybody train actually, and so far you guys fall into a group of a select few that I think have potential. Now Hercules, you're a big burly guy that more than lives up to his namesake; I watched you throwing those weights around before. And Demeter, so far you've impressed me with that little dance you had going on with those sticks, very pretty. I think you're supposed to smack people with them, but hey, the choreography was great. You seem pretty fast on your feet as well, which is always a good quality in my books."

"Ok then," Hercules starts, leaning back in his chair and eyeing me with suspicion. "you've stated why you want us. Why would we want to be in an alliance with you?"

"Excellent Question, I'm glad you asked!" I beam, flicking a stalk of steamed broccoli off my plate and towards his face. He dodges it and I smile. "Hercules baby, your token is a necklace sort of thing woven together from grass, am I right?"

Yes but…"

"Shhh demigod, I'm not done yet. Demeter, yours is a goldy coloured chain, with a rusted out clasp, isn't it?"

"Yes," she replies nervously, her hand darting into her pocket to find the chain, before her face goes pale white when she realizes it's no longer there. Hercules does the same. "What the.."

I pull both their tokens out of my pocket and dangle them in the air, grinning from ear to ear. "Like I said, I've been watching you guys train today. Very, very closely." Both of them just stare at me with their mouths hanging open, absolutely gobsmacked. I laugh. "So, as you can see, I've got my own talents. Are you in, or are you out?"

They both turn to look at one another, before turning back to me and nodding. "We're in."

**Russell Darcy, 14, D6**

So far I'm really enjoying the climbing station. Katie and I have mostly just been wandering around the more muted stations, but this is the first one we've had to exert any kind of energy on. There is a small rock climbing wall, a set of everyday monkey bars that remind me so much of the school yard back home, as well as a set of these really intense bars that have grooves in them you've got to push a ring through. So far only the pair from 1 have tried it, and both of them got all the way through. I'm not game enough to give it a go. I'd more than likely just end up embarrassing myself, and something tells me this is not the kind of place you want people sniggering at you.

Katie is clawing her way up the rock climbing section like a little monkey. She's so slight and small that I'm sure if there was a big enough gust of wind she'd go flying through the air like a bird in flight. Her weightlessness has so far proven to be a great advantage in climbing, but I can't help but worry about what would happen to her if someone got hold of her in the Arena. Someone that frail surely would never be able to survive close combat with even the weakest of tributes.

"Woo!" she hollers as she reaches the top, pumping her fist in victory. "I made it! Look Russ I made it!"

"Wow, good job Katie!" I call out to her, smiling. The pair from 1, who are making their way over to the agility course stare at me after I say it, and I feel myself flushing over with a mixture of embarrassment and fear. I'm probably the only person in this whole place that's cheering on somebody else. It's just that she's so young and sweet, it wouldn't seem right for me to be rude to her only because we're in a fight to the death with twenty two other kids.

**Gray Atrium, 16, D10**

The agility course is intense. You've got to run across this structure that wobbles every which way while you run, and to top that off there are guys on each side with huge puffy bats that try to swat you off the thing you've got to duck and we've around. So far I've seen three people fall off, one of which was the boy from 2. He didn't look very happy about that, and immediately pushed his way to the front of the line so he could do it over.

He got through just fine that time, if you were wondering.

The boy from 7 has just been knocked off at the mid-way point, and the girl from 2 is about to give it a go. She doesn't really look the part of a career, she looks soft and like she's lead an easy life, unlike the rest of those kids, who all seem to have training hardened bodies and equally hard set expressions on their faces.

"I hope she gets through it." The boy from 11, who is standing behind me mumbles, mostly to himself from what I'm guessing. Both myself and the boy from 8, whose name I think is Airick, snap around to look at him, and his whole face goes beet red. "It would be a sh-shame to see her fa-fall is all."

"I'm guessing you'll be cheering her on when she comes at you with a hatchet in the Arena as well then?" Airick says, stonefaced, but there is a hint of something almost friendly in the back of his voice.

The boy from 11 whose name I'm now sure was Spencer, swallows hard. "Of course nnn-not. I just don't wa-want to sss-see her fall now."

That's pretty much where the conversation ends. Airick nods and turns back around, watching the girl clamber across the course. She doesn't seem to have a very well rounded technique and stumbles through most of it, nearly falling more than once, but she manages to make it all the way to the end.

**Cyra Hale, 15, D7**

I'm busily tinkering away on a simple snare when the girl from 11 approaches me.

"What are you making there?" She asks, plonking down beside me on the bed of fake moss they've strewn around the station, in an attempt to make it feel like an Arena setting.

"Some snare the guy running this station showed me before." I say, pointing to the contraption made from looped together ropes and spiked tree branches. The girl strokes her chin, as though she's got some kind of invisible moustache that needs tending too, before she picks up a small rock and drops it into the snare. I have only about half a second to pull my hand away before the ropes and sticks go taught and stab at the rock, the sharpened ends on the wood snapping off as they hit it.

"What the hell are you trying to do, cut my fingers off?" I hiss, pulling my hand protectively up to my chest. "You can't do that you know, it's against the rules."

The girl laughs and shakes her head. "Oh no, I'm not trying to hurt you, just wanted to test it out. You're really quite good at this."

"Thank you," I reply warily, and then, realizing I haven't introduced myself and not wanting to be rude, I add, "My name is Cyra by the way."

"My name is Rye," The girl says, before leaning over towards me with a devilish grin on her face. "and I've got a proposition for you."

* * *

**Well there you have it folks, day 1 in the Training Centre! A few alliances (and perhaps some romances here and there) are coming along swimmingly.**

So now that its up, tell me what you guys think!


	17. Training Day 2

**Demeter Ross, 17, D9**

Hercules and I have only just sat down at the table for breakfast when Eudora clears her throat and looks at us pointedly. "Well, was either of you going to tell me about that girl from 11's little plan or were you hoping I'd just remain oblivious to it all?"

We both look at each other and Herc raises an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, we didn't think it's that big of a deal?"

"That big of a deal?" Eudora laughs, swishing her cup back and forth as she does so, spraying droplets of water all over her eggs. "You're invited to join an alliance that could very well mean either you find great success or doom, and you don't think it'd be wise to discuss it with the only person in this god forsaken place that actually cares if one of you makes it out alive or not?"

Her glare is like ice, and we both try to avoid it, staring at the knives and forks placed around the table. "We're sorry," I start, half lifting my eyes in an attempt to feign contact.

"We should have told you. We just weren't sure whether or not we we're going to accept her proposal yet." Herc lies. "Do you think we should?"

A cruel smirk stretches across her plasticized face and she sits her cup back down on the table. "Why of course I do. In fact, I've just been discussing the situation with both the Escort's from 11 and 7. We think it should really spice things up in the game this year."

"Escort from 7?" I ask, confused.

"Yes, apparently the girl from 7 was approached as well. What she's got to offer, who knows!" Eudora drones. "Now, here's what they had to say….."

**Spencer Lux, 16, D11**

I never expected that Rye and I would be allies, or anything closely resembling them from the moment I joined her up on stage at the reaping, but the fact that she's orchestrating her own alliance and has already written me off as unnecessary kind of hurt a lot. Especially considering that last night over dinner all we ended up talking about was Rye's little plot. After the reaping I'd been under the impression that Gesha couldn't stand to be within five meters of her, let alone give her helpful hints, but it seems Rye's got a talent for winning people over with her quick witted words and sinuous voice.

It's a lot harder for me to get my point across when I'm a stuttering mess.

Right now I'm in the training centre, waiting for my turn to use the toilet. Despite all the Capitol extravagance surrounding us, it seems there wasn't enough money in the budget to build more than one toilet for the tributes to use in the facility, and sometimes the wait to get in can be pretty long and uncomfortable. Lucky for me now it's pretty early in the day and other than whoever is in there already, I'm the only one wanting to use it.

I hear the toilet flush, then the sound of the tap running before the door slides open slowly and the girl from 2's head peers through the gap. When she first sees me waiting she pulls her head back in a bit, her green eyes stretching wide open in fear, before her cheeks blush ruby red. "I'm so sorry, have you been waiting long?"

"No n-not at all." I lie. The truth is that despite the line being non-existent, she has been in there for a really long time. "I only just got here to tell th-the truth."

"Oh, thank god." She sighs, wiping her hand across her cheek, and if it wasn't for the angle that the light from above hit her cheek, I wouldn't have known she'd been crying, but for one brief moment a small tear glowed gold against her freckles, before it vanished entirely, swept away by her fingers.

"Are you alright?" I find myself asking, all too curious to find out why she of all people would be crying. Not only is she a career, her parents are victor's. If anyone should be feeling confident right now, it should be her.

"I'm fine, really. Just feeling a bit homesick." She smiles as she finishes the sentence and her cheeks, which are too round to belong to anyone who has ever known true hunger, press upwards, making her eyes crease up. "I'm sure you know what I mean."

"Oh I kn-now w-what you mean." I stutter, ringing my hands together. Back home in 11 I'd be lucky if any of the girls ever asked me for a pencil in class, and the chance of one of them continuing that conversation past the word 'thanks' was nill. But here I am, in a corridor leading to a room full of weapons, talking to a girl who is practically royalty. Well, royalty as far as the district's are concerned.

"I'm Rose." She tells me, stretching her hand out towards my jittery hands, and instead of grasping hold of one of them in a shake, she places it over both of them and squeezes tightly. "What's your name, if you don't mind me asking? Some of the other kids seem like they'd rather remain anonymous."

"I d-don't m-mmmind at all." I stutter, trying to stretch my trembling lips into something resembling a smile. "I'm Spencer. S-ssss-s-sorry about all the st-stuttering. It's a nervous habit of m-mine."

"I'm making you nervous? I'm so sorry."

"No, no, don't be. It's j-just you're sss-so, umm, never mind." I can feel my face going a thousand different shades of scarlet. "I don't t-talk to girls much."

She smiles at me again, but this time it's much softer, an almost shy sort, with only the corners of her mouth tilting upwards just the tiniest bit. "Well, stutter or not, you're not doing half bad at it. Talking to a girl, that is."

"Well th-that's a relief." I laugh.

**Allius Winters, 17, D3**

We've made an uneasy sort of alliance with the pair from 12, or at least that's the best way I can describe it. It's more of just a friendly tolerance of one another as we move from station to station. For the most part we've stuck with the more survival based ones, but Flinch and the girl both felt like it was time we ventured into the weaponry area. So far we've been to the axe station, which proved beyond a doubt I don't have the arm strength to carry something of that magnitude. Flinch in the end was the only one who could _really_ manage, but even then he was struggling, so we all decided we were better off moving along before the Career kids found us and started pointing and laughing.

Right now we're at the archery station, and I can already feel my self-esteem tumbling lower and lower. The huge hulking boy from 9 is manning one of the bows, and he's such a good shot it makes me want to cry. Cole so far hasn't done too badly with the other bow; he might not be getting any bulls eyes, but it's not like he's missing completely.

Flinch runs his hands up and down my shoulders, sensing my nervousness. "Stress less Ally. If you can't use a bow we'll move on to the knives. Everyone should be able to use one of those."

"I don't know about that."

"All you've got to do is grasp onto the handle and stab with it."

"I've got weak wrists."

He sighs and squeezes my shoulder tightly, something that's both a comfort and a worry. I pull myself away from his hold and his eyes cloud over with hurt. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be Flinch. It's comforting, really it is." I smile, brushing my fingers against his. "But we can't have people knowing about us. They'll use it against us in the games."

"Us?" He grins, "What exactly are we?"

I sigh and fight back the urge to collapse against his chest, to let him wrap his arms around me in his patented bear hugs. "In this place, I don't know what we are. I know what we'd be back home, but not here."

"And what would we be back home?" He whispers, eyeing Modest as he does so, because her head seems to be tilted suspiciously in our direction, ready and willing to listen to our conversation.

I wait until I'm sure she's not listening to reply. "You know exactly what we would be back home, what we should have been."

_And what we now never can be._

**Rose Stroud, 17, D2**

Jarred throws spear after spear at a set of rotating targets, each one snagging itself deep in the rubber dummies abdomens, necks and heads. To the right of me, at the sword station, Brock is slicing the arms off stationary dummies, before spearing them in the place their hearts would be if they were living, breathing opponents. Farther to the right Brynn is sitting down, weaving a net together out of water reeds. And me? I'm sitting on a crate feeling like my chest is going to explode because I'm so anxious.

"Not feeling up to it today?" A voice says behind me, and when I turn Aria is standing there, holding a knife in each hand. Even though she's about the same height and size as me, I can't help but feel intimidated by her presence. Unlike Brynn, who's so far been more than eager to start up a conversation, Aria's hardly spoken more than three words to anyone in training. What she has been doing is being constantly on the move, throwing knives into targets and acing the agility courses without even breaking a sweat. I know just as well as the boys do that she's going to give everyone a run for their money, unlike me, who is basically just the life support system, a direct line to the heart of the Capitol, whose use will eventually dry up.

"Not really." I say. She studies me for a moment, her eyes sweeping over me cold and hard, before she thrusts one of the knives in my direction. I can't help but let out a pathetic shriek in terror before flinching away from her, terrified she's about to attack me. But when I open my eyes she's just got her arm outstretched toward mine, knife in hand, the ghost of a smile etched onto her lips.

"I'm not going to hurt you. Take it." She shakes the knife in her hand, and reluctantly I take it from her. She nods her head and points at the target. "Try and hit that."

I take in a deep breath, line the round dot in the centre up with my line of vision, before pulling the knife back, ready to throw. Aria's hand, lightning fast, grips onto my wrist, locking it in place.

"You're holding it wrong. Hold the blade, not the handle." She tells me, releasing her hand from around my wrist.

"The blade? But I'll cut my hand won't I?"

"No. Trust me, ok?"

"Ok."

I don't know why I decide to trust her and take her little knife throwing lesson, but I end up listening intently to every word she says and trying to replicate those words into movement when I finally throw the knife. It sails through the air –albeit a little wonky- and hits just on the edge of the seven point zone. It's nowhere near perfection, but it's a good effort for someone as new to all this as I am.

"Good job for a first throw." Aria exhales, twirling the other knife's point in circles on her palm. "Here, have another shot."

"Why are you doing this?" I ask as I take it, feeling suspicious, as though at any moment her district partner is going to jump up and laugh at some joke they've played on me.

She seems taken aback at first by my question, and her eyes go wide as saucers. "Why am I doing what?"

"Helping me."

"Because right now you need the help."

"Helping me isn't going help you in any way though, so why are you doing it?"

This time she actually does smile. It's a genuine smile, not one full of malice and treachery like I'd expect from someone who thus far has remained entirely stone faced. "I might be a Career Rose, but not everything I do here is for my own gain."

**Vivian May, 16, D8**

Airick and I have been waiting in line at the climbing station for a whole ten minutes when the boy from 1 makes his way over towards me.

"Hey, how you doing?" He asks as he slots in between the two of us, and I become immediately aware that he's flexing one of his biceps against the wall.

"I'm...Fine?" I reply, feeling uncomfortable by his too close presence. It's not like he's an unattractive boy, in fact he's quite the opposite, and in any other situation I would have eaten up attention like this, but flirting with someone who is about to become a mortal enemy seems like an unwise life choice.

He grins, showing off a row of pearly white teeth. "That's awesome. Anyway I just wanted to say you looked damn fine in that little jumpsuit you were wearing during the parade."

"Thank you." I mumble, now feeling more embarrassed than uncomfortable.

He doesn't seem to notice. "You're welcome. So I was thinking…" He leans down close, so his mouth brushes across my ear, making my spine tingle in a way that I can't be sure is either good or bad. "If you ever get bored of hanging around your little district partner here, I'd be more than willing to waste some of your time. In fact, I'm pretty sure the toilet's empty right now if you wanted to…."

Before he can even finish that sentence Airick spins around and smacks him hard in the jar, catching him off guard and making me scream. "Airick what are you doing?!"

"He shouldn't have been talking to you like that." He huffs shaking his hand back and forth in pain. "My god, what is your face made out of man? Iron?"

The boy, who up until now had been leaning against the wall stunned, scowls. "You'll regret that kid. You're the first person I get in the bloodbath, I swear."

"Well why don't you just save yourself the wait and finish me off now huh?" Clenching his teeth as he finishes the sentence and jamming his hand into his pocket to try and stifle the pain. For a moment I think the boy from 1 is going to take him up on the offer, but when he notices the obscene amount of officials who've suddenly surrounded the station he backs away.

"Like I said kid, I'll get you."

"I'm so _scared_." Airick hisses as he walks off. He waits a moment, apparently making sure the Career kid is out of range, before turning back to face me, his face twisted up in agony. "Oh god Viv I'm terrified! Why the hell did I do that?"

"Because you're just two sweet for your own good." I smile back at him.

"Well that can't be too much of a bad thing then can it?" He half laughs, wincing as he pulls his hand back out of his pocket. "Uh, Viv, I think I'm going to go get this looked at by first aid."

"I'll come with you then." I tell him, and together we leave our place in the line and make our way over to the aid official, whose already waiting for us, arms folded across her chest in disapproval.

**Katie Chandler, 12, D6**

I've been working on my little fire for now more than five minutes when the kindling starts smoking, and a few tiny embers catch onto the dried grass shoots. Russell's eyes grow wide in shock.

"Wow Katie, that's impressive."

"What can I say? I'm a talented individual." I grin, watching the orange flames flickering up underneath my hands. I pull them away, but not before I feel the heat on my palms. I've always loved that sensation. It was one of the reasons why I decided that the way my family was going to go was by fire. You can't ignore burning heat, not like you can a young child. Someone once told me that the pain one suffers while burning to death is so excruciating that each time you pass out, the pain just wakes you right back up, and you can't ever escape it. I'm not sure exactly how true it is, but I like the sound of it, that's for sure.

"That you are." Russell winks, returning to his own pathetic attempt at a fire. "You know, I've got a brother about your age."

Really? How fascinating." I chime, trying to sound like I care. In reality I couldn't care one way or the other.

"His name is Fitz." When I don't reply he continues on. "Did you know him?"

"I got schooled at the home, so no, probably not."

"That's a shame. You two would have got along well I think."

_Unlikely, _I think to myself. "I bet you miss him a lot hey?"

"Yeah." He mumbles, staring down at his hands. "At least I've got you to keep me company though hey?"

"Oh of course." I smile, throwing another pile of grass on my fire, making it snap and crackle loudly. "At least you've got me."

**Cyra Hale, 15, D7**

Just like she instructed me to do the day before, I take my plate of food at lunch and sit opposite Rye on one of the outer tables. "Alright, what's the plan?" I ask, only to be greeted by her hand being held up in my face.

"Shh, this turkey sandwich is too tasty to split my concentration from, give me a moment." She moans, shovelling mouthfuls of the stuff into her mouth. I sit quietly across from her, flicking my peas and potatoes across my plate. For some reason I'm not all that hungry today, in fact, to tell the honest truth, I feel a little bit sick. I guess I've probably eaten a bit too much food in the past few days, and my body is struggling to keep up with my mouth. Rye doesn't seem to be suffering the same fate, instead she seems even more hungry than anyone I've seen so far.

When all the food has been scraped off her plate I decide to try and talk again. "Are we good now?"

"We are glorious." She beams, setting her knife and fork, which she barely even used, down in a cross pattern on the plate. "Your Escort and all that informed you about District 9's involvement I'm guessing?"

"Yes,"

"Great. So here's the deal. For this alliance majigga thing to work, it'll be best that other than us core four, no one knows we're in cahoots, otherwise…" She pulls her finger across her throat in a slitting movement, "We're toast. You get me?"

"Yeah I get you, but how are we supposed to work out a plan of attack for the Cornucopia?" I ask, and Rye grins from ear to ear.

"Why do you assume we're going to do that?"

"Because I sort of feel like unless we get hold of some supplies this alliance will burst apart at the seams."

"Hmm good point good point. Well on that matter, big boy Herc is going to do most of the work. We'll stick to the edges, scavenging the bags full of empty water bottles and what not."

"Are you sure that's a good idea? The Careers will go for him straight away, he's a massive threat."

Her smirk is so smarmy it's almost disgusting. "Oh, but they won't. Now, you asked before how we were going to communicate, did you not?"

"Yes,"

"Well here's the deal. I talk to you, you talk to Demeter, she passes on the message to brute boy, and right now I've got an important message you need to get across."

"ok, what is it?" I ask.

Rye clears her throat and flexes her fingers out in front of her, making her joints crack. "Hercules Mercules needs to join the Careers, so we can get the weaponry we need without suffering too much…damage."

By damage I know she means death, and I feel my skin crawl at the word. I keep forgetting that this situation could mean either life or death for me. "What if they won't have him?"

"Oh I've got a thousand other plans up my sleeve, don't you worry, but I think they'll take him, I mean, have you seen that boys accuracy with a bow and arrow? And his size? And the muscles on his arms that are practically bursting out of his skin?"

"I see your point. Nice visual."

"Thanks. I do try. So do you think you'll be fine to pass that message on?"

"Of course." I say, before remembering there is one last nagging question drifting around in the back of my mind. "Rye, what do we do after all that?"

She laughs at this, a quiet sort of huffy noise in the back of her throat. "Oh, that's easy. We run, and we don't stop until we can't hear everyone else screaming anymore."

**Jay Bird, 14, D10**

Gray and I are sitting on a table with the boy from 11, Spencer. He thinks he's being sneaky, but I can see him peering to his right and watching the Careers, who are all hooting and hollering like they had the day before.

"Why are you watching them?"

He jumps, startled, and then his cheeks burn bright, making his grey-green eyes pop out in comparison. "I-i-I dunno, I'm just nnn-nervous."

"About what?" Gray asks quizzically, his brow crinkling up into a medley of wrinkles. "Everyone's nervous after all."

"I'm just worrying about the scores tomorrow." Spencer replies sheepishly, slinking back against his chair. "I bet they've all already got everything figured out, you know? Then there's people like me, who've got no idea what to do in there."

Against my better judgement I reach across the table and pat his hand lightly. "Hey, we're all in the same boat with that, am I right Gray?"

"You bet. So far I'm thinking of just walking in there and doing army rolls." Gray laughs self-depreciatingly, burying his hands in his face as he does so. "I'm sure you'll have something better than that in mind."

"Oh I don't know about that." Spencer mumbles, completely stutter free, and I can't help but feel good about that. The poor kid's so nervous all the time, especially since his district partner started flat out ignoring him in training. It's nice to see him relax a little, even if it is only temporary.

**Jane Rooke, 18, D5**

_Dear Jason,_

_Training is a bizarre experience. I don't think my arms and legs have ever felt so sore, I tell you what, that agility course is brutal. I'm glad the Grant has been pushing me to do things today though. It's nice to have someone around to motivate me._

_You're probably wondering who Grant is, sorry, I should have explained earlier. He's this sweet boy from District 4 who seems to have taken a shine to me. Normally I would try and convince a person like this to just leave me alone, like I have with all my friends, but he looks at me with such admiration Jason, I just couldn't do it. He looks at me just like you used to, which is crazy of course. This boy's barely even out of childhood, and he hasn't known me nearly long enough to truly love me. It's just, I think he gets me, or he understands that I'm not rainbows and sunshine, and I think he's ok with that. He likes me for me, for all my sad lonely moods and habits, and I suppose if you meet someone like that, who likes you despite your faults; you might as well keep them around._

_Of course you needn't worry about me reciprocating any romantic feelings. He's much too young for me. Jason. Not like you were._

_I've got to go, Viridian is calling us over for dinner, and I know Lewis is terribly hungry. She'll make him wait to eat until I show up. Something about manners apparently._

_Love always, _

_Jane._

**Aria Mallow, 18, D1**

There's a certain perk to being on the ground floor; we've got our own private garden sort of place instead of a balcony. District 12 apparently has their own rooftop rendezvous point, but I wouldn't trade the view up there for the privacy the manicured shrubbery provides. I wouldn't want to see the chanting public down below or the shows they play on the giant screens. I'm quite happy to only be able to hear them through the bushes.

When I go out to the garden, which is really only a rather small square, Brock is already sitting on the bench, nursing a bag of florescent green liquid against his face. "Heard you got punched out today by the boy from 8."

He pokes his tongue out at me and groans. "I'll get him back for it, you watch. On the plus side though he's sprained his hand." Brock gently pats the side of his face and grins. "Jaws of steel baby doll, jaws of steel."

"You're a human parody Brock Emerald." I sigh, taking the seat beside him. "What smooth moves did you pull on his district partner?"

"What makes you think I pulled any at all?"

"I know you too well."

"And yet I hardly know you at all." He slides across the seat, closing the small gap between us. For a moment I think he's going to be his usual skeezy self and drape an arm around my shoulder, but instead he just twines his hands together in his lap. "Nervous about tomorrow?"

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't."

"Well don't be. You'll be fine. You'll ace it."

I raise an eyebrow. "You're not trying to butter me up with compliments, are you?"

"No." He laughs, shouldering me gently. "I know you're much too smart to fall for my charms. I'm being serious, you'll do great."

"Well then, thank you, I guess."

"Don't even worry about it."

We sit in silence for a few more minutes, or as much silence as is allowed in a place as lively as the Capitol, before he speaks again. "I think we need a goal for every day, from today onwards. You know, something to look forward to in a game where there is virtually nothing to look forward to."

"I'm sure you've got tomorrow's picked out. What are we striving for in the private sessions?"

He smiles, and this time he actually does wrap an arm around me, but there's nothing sleazy about it. If anything it's just a friendly gesture. "Our goal for tomorrow is to make sure at least one of us gets a better score than Jarred."

I can't help but smile a little at that. Alright then, you've got a deal."

* * *

**.  
****Sorry about the long wait for this chapter, I just got a new job and I had to work every night for a week, so I haven't had a lot of spare time for writing :/ I know a few characters didn't get a mention at all in this chapter and I'm very sorry about that! It doesn't mean I don't love them, I just ran out of time and ideas to fit them into this particular chapter. They'll have a POV in the next chapter to make up for it I promise!**

**So anyway, onto some serious business! The next chapter is The private sessions/ Training. I was thinking about doing a third training day, but I'm sure you're all just as anxious as I am to see the games start. So on that note, if anyone has anything they especially want their character to do in their session, let me know :)**

**Till next time (hopefully much sooner than this hehe)**


	18. Private Sessions

**Viridian Klaus, Head Gamemaker**

The girl from 1, a lithe blonde creature who introduces herself as Aria, puts on an excellent show. She calls forward a combat partner and proceeds to disarm and pin them in a matter of minutes, pinioning them to the ground with the handle of a spear against his throat. She then throws her knives, a set of ten, at the revolving targets, hitting the centre points each and every time.

Her district partner choses to run his way through the agility course, slicing the batons my officials strike out towards him into pieces with a sword almost the same length as his legs. He's cocky and self-assured when he reaches the end, not the tiniest trace of sweat glistening on his body anywhere.

Atticus Stroud's daughter is something of a disappointment. Years ago, when I was much younger and had only just gotten a seat on the Gamemakers committee I'd been lucky enough to witness her father's training session, and it had been rather very impressive. The girl has the same air of confidence about her that Atticus had, but I can see that this is merely a façade, that she's really trembling in her shoes. She throws a few lack lustre but not entirely bad throws at the knife station, before awkwardly slicing the head off a dummy with a machete.

The boy from 2 moves through his motions with cold and eerily calm precision. He jams spear after spear into what I think are the major pressure points into a bunch of stationary dummies, before standing below an incredibly high bar and jumping high into the air, lifting himself up onto it with one vein popping arm. A few of my fellow Gamemakers gasp at this; I instead stifle a quiet yawn.

I've never been much of a fan of the show Career kids put on. Don't get me wrong, some of the things they show us are beyond anything I'll ever be capable of and we always score them as highly as they deserve, but their performances seem so contrived, so perfectly orchestrated. You can tell they've been practicing what they'll show us for years, each step they take and stab they make perfectly choreographed.

It's the kids from the outer district's whose performances I find far more fascinating. The kids that not only show us what their Mentor or Escort has instructed them to do, but also show us the fear and desperation boiling away under the surface of their shaking skins. They aren't arrogant like the Career kids, none of these kids really believe they'll come out alive. Sure, they all hope and pray that they will, but you can tell that in the back of their minds they are sure they'll die, and that is far more interesting to me than a choreographed dance.

The boy from 3's performance is a shining example of entertainment. When he first walks in I find myself drawn to the ugly scar covering most of his face and I find myself wondering how he got it. With his looming height and well-toned arms, I can't help but think he might have got it in some kind of fight, and I'm excited by the possibility of a strong, non-career contender. My hopes for that however, are dashed only a few moments later, when he slips on the climbing station, catching his leg in the rope and falling, only to be caught upside down, his leg tangled in the netting. After he leaves the room, his face just as bright as the hair on his head, I can't help but think he just had an awful round of bad luck. His district partner did after all, despite her small stature and frail appearance make it all the way up to the top, perching on one of the beams like a frightened little bird. Surely if she was capable of performing such a feat, he must have been as well?

District 4 is surprisingly refreshing. The girl performs much the same feats as you'd expect of a Career, before sitting herself down in the last five minutes and weaving the most elaborate net I've seen a tribute create in years. The boy proves to be even more interesting; after throwing a few weights around and bending some nails to create a fish hook, he sits himself down in the centre of the room and sits perfectly still. At first I have no idea what he's trying to do, and I'm just about ready to dismiss him for what I can only perceive is a total waste of our time when I notice his face is slowly going red, and his cheeks are starting to look like they might combust. Regulus Jones, my second in command starts clapping manically and exclaims, "Would you look at that?! The cheeky kid is sitting there holding his breath!"

He held it for what seemed an impossible length of time, before letting it all out in a huge gush that echoed across the ceiling.

When the girl from 5 enters the room, she runs through the agility course, before sitting herself down in the centre of the room, like the boy had only half an hour before. For a few short moments I'm sitting on the edge of my seat, excited by the prospect of another tribute showing off some fantastic and seldom seen skill like the young boy from 4, but when it becomes apparent the girl has no intentions of doing anything other than sitting, I'm sourly disappointed. She is excused, and her District Partner is promptly brought in.

The boy from 5 proves to be a classic example of lost hope and low self-esteem. He starts off well, throwing weights around and scampering across the room, but when he trips over his own feet after the third throw you can practically see the confidence seeping out of his skin. By the end of it the kid seems so dejected he can't even lift the weights he was only a moment before throwing with such ease.

The biggest shock of the day is definitely the little girl from 6. This sweet little angelic thing appears, her hair parted into two comically childish piggy tails, and I almost feel bad about the fact she's more than likely destined to die in the arena. That is until she wanders over to the knife station, takes one of the larger weapons and then proceeds to slash one of the dummies across all the points where major arteries can be found, before setting the damned thing on fire. As she excuses herself and skips out the door, we are all left speechless, mouths hanging open wide enough to catch hundreds of flies. Her district partner proves to be far less interesting; for the most part he bumbles through his session, showing us nothing of any real value.

We get our first real show of camouflage from the District 7 girl. She paints her skin meticulously with the natural found paints, before sticking various leaves and branches across her body. It's so well done that even in this sterile, unnatural setting it's more than obvious it'd be an excellent talent to have in the arena. Her district partner proves himself to be a strong young thing, cutting a set of dummies clean in half with an axe.

District 8 shows us nothing particularly exciting, they both run through the agility course and then attempt the climbing station. The girl's travel across the netting is shaky and without technique, but the boy seems to be a bit more confident, even managing to flip himself over and land on his feet at the very end. Still, their sessions left a lot to be desired.

The young girl from 9 does something quite different; she runs through the agility course backwards, and then leaves, just like that. The officials who are supposed to bat at her during her run are so confused by her entry point that not one of them gets even close to hitting her as she passes them. The other Gamemakers aren't all that impressed by her efforts, but I certainly am. Whether a tribute can look outside the box is something that can equal life or death in the arena, and this girl certainly can do just that. She'll be an interesting one to watch.

I'm so busy writing down notes about this girl that I miss the boy from 9's performance. After he leaves Regulus assures me he will prove to be a very strong contender in the games from what he saw, which a boy was destroying things with his bare hands and then rigging the most elaborate snares he'd yet seen.

The girl from 10 shows off exceptional knife skills, while her district partner shows us he has quite a lot of stamina by running lap after lap around the room at the same steady pace until his time is up. The sly looking girl from 11 shocks us all by pitching five little tomahawks into the heads of five dummies in five different sections. I can't help but wonder why someone with skills like that hasn't been picked up by the Careers.

Now the boy from 11, he sure must have something to prove. In the short amount of time allotted he manages to start a fire, roast some vegetables he discovered in the edible plants section on a spit , and build a seriously impressive hideaway out of twigs and leaves, weaving the branches together in twisted knots that remind me of the kinds of things district 8 kids usually show. After he leaves and the officials set the room up for the last two kids, all of us Gamemakers agree that these two children showed skills far beyond what we'd expect of District 11.

As far as finales go, what District 12 has to show us isn't as terribly boring as usual, at least not in regards to what the girl has to show anyway. While her district partner just went through the edible plants, a giddy smile spread across his face the whole time, The girl climbed up the roof netting portion of the climbing station, and upon reaching the centre of it hooked her feet into one of the squares, tapping a dummy -placed underneath at the request of her mentor- on the head. It was a very different routine to what we usually see on the climbing station, but when it comes to The Hunger Games, different almost always equals good.

As the janitor comes in to clean away the mess the twenty four tributes have made in the training room, my fellow Gamemakers and I write down our final decisions regarding their scores, each of us knowing these numbers could easily mean life or death for these young children, and not one of us really caring about that fact at all.

* * *

**I'm terribly sorry for the lateness of this chapter and the last on,e it's just that in between working hard for my money and watching American Horror Story for the second time over (with my mother), I've had a bit of trouble finding time to write. but never fear, I'm not going to abandon this story.**

**As I'm sure you noticed, I went for a bit of a different approach for this chapter. After spending over an hour trying to work out how I could condense 24 training sessions into one chapter I finally decided to just go for the Gamemaker POV. I hope you guys didn't mind, and that you're all reasonably happy with what your tributes showed the Gamemakers. :)**

**Also I'd like to just say a huge thank you to those of you who review, your lovely comments keep me going and I don't thank you all nearly as much as I should ^.^**

**Well I'll stop rambling now, till next time guys!**


	19. Scores

**Hello everyone! **

**This chapter is a shorter one than usual, and while it does only include the POV's of two tributes, it does include the results for all 24. Originally I was going to include these two pov's with my interview chapter, but they weren't working well with the others, so I figured I'd give you guys a mini chapter just in time for Christmas. I hope you don't mind!**

**Also, the sections in Italics are all part of the program that the scores are read out on, just in case anyone gets confused (I doubt any of you guys will, but I figure it's better to clarify just in case, right?)**

* * *

**Jarred Emery, 17, D2**

'_Good afternoon Panem, its Alistair Carthor here, ready to bring you this year's scores from the tributes training sessions. Now I know you're all just dying to know what it is those kids got up to yesterday, but unfortunately that's a secret the Gamemakers are going to have to take to their graves. What I can tell you, however, was that there were some amazing, and perhaps a little bit surprising and certainly some shocking feats shown off by some tributes, and I've been assured this year the games are set to be mighty eventful! So without further ado the time has come to find out just how this year's tributes faired in their private sessions. I know you're all sitting on the edges of your seat just bursting with excitement, so here goes.'_

'_Aria mallow, District 1, with a score of 10.'_

"Well what do you know," Nymeria giggles, "That sallow faced girl's actually got some talent."

'_Brock Emerald, District 1, with a score of 11.'_

There's no laughter following this announcement, in fact, both Nymeria and Wanda's faces drain completely of color. An 11 is a spectacular score to get, even for a career.

Atticus clears his throat. "Don't even worry about it, the kids probably just an excellent showman. All bark and no bite I bet."

His words aren't enough to comfort either myself or Rose however, and while I'm sitting on the sofa in shock, I can see her shaking nervously beside me from the corner of my eye. For a moment I almost feel sorry for her, she is, after all, bound to get the lowest score of all us Careers, maybe even lower than is expected.

Alistair presses on with his readings, and the whole room is locked in total silence from the moment we see his lips start to form Rose's name.

'_Rose Stroud, District 2, with a score of 7.'_

It's not an ideal score for a Career, but it'll put her on a par with the best of the rest, and that's more than I would have figured she'd get.

'_Jarred Emery, District 2, with a score of 9.'_

"What?!" I scream, my hands balling into tight fists around the cushions. "Nine? I only got a Nine?"

"It's better than a Seven." Nymeria chimes, trying to diffuse the situation in the only way we kids from district 2 know how; by putting down others. Normally seeing someone like Rose have their face cloud over in humiliation and despair would make me feel twice as good about myself, but right now all I can think is that despite her lack of training in comparison to my lifelong devotion to the games, I've come away with a score only two points ahead of her. I'm not even in double digits. Not even her humiliation can make me feel better, because it's mine to share.

"It's not good enough though." I hiss, kicking my drink off the coffee table and sending it smashing into the floor, the glass splintering into a hundred different pieces. "I'm better than that, and you know it."

"You should just be grateful for what you've got Jarred." Rose says, her voice almost amused. For the briefest of moments I can see this glint in her eye, as though she's enjoying my anger and making a mental note to remember it, to savour it, and there is nothing more that I'd rather do than to leap across the couch and snap her perfect little neck, to feel the tendons strain and crack along with the top of her spine. That would make me feel better about all this. Even if it were just a momentary pleasure, it'd be worth it. Unfortunately however, I can't do anything like that to her, not yet, not until her sponsorships start drying up during the games.

"Screw you Rose." I snarl at her, before getting up and making my way to my room. I can hear Wanda calling out, "What about the other scores?" but right now, I don't even care.

**Cole Mackenzie, 14, D12**

Alistair Carthor reads through the scores, and even though I know it's only really taking him about two minutes to do so, it feels like an hour and a half as Modest and I sit and watch, ringing our hands together nervously, only to try and wipe our sweating palms on the cushions either side of us.

'_Allius Winters, District 3, with a score of 5.'_

'_Flinch Lightwood, District 3, with a score of 3.'_

'_Brynn Halee, District 4, with a score of 8.'_

'_Grant Green, District 4, with a score of 8.'_

'_Jane Rooke, District 5, with a score of 3.'_

'_Lewis Natbotch, District 5, with a score of 5.'_

'_Katie Chandler, District 6, with a score of 11.'_

Modest and I both gawk at the screen after they read that one. It seems impossible that the teeny tiny girl from 6 could score so highly. Before we even have time to utter a syllable in reference to it Alistair is already reading the rest of the scores out, and we both just force our disbelief back down into our chests and listen.

'_Russell Darcy, District 6, with a score of 4.'_

'_Cyra Hale, District 7, with a score of 6.'_

'_Luke Pallas, District 7, with a score of 8.'_

'_Vivian May, District 8, with a score of 5.'_

'_Airick Marloth, District 8, with a score of 6.'_

'_Demeter Ross, District 9, with a score of 8.'_

'_Hercules Strong, District 9, with a score of 9.'_

'_Jay Bird, District 10, with a score of 6.'_

'_Gray Atrium, District 10, with a score of 6.'_

'_Rye Goldsmith, District 11, with a score of 9.'_

'_Spencer Lux, District 11, with a score of 8.'_

'_Modest Kline, District 12, with a score of 7.'_

'_And last, but certainly not least, Cole Mackenzie, District 12, with a score of 5.'_

"That's still a good score Cole." Modest blurts out over the Alistair's closing words. "It could be worse."

"It's less than half though." I mumble, staring down at the fuzzy carpet I've scrunched my toes up in.

"I won't have any negativity here." Arachne says, wrapping her arm gingerly around my shoulder, a gesture I can tell makes her uncomfortable. "Seeing as the top scores were both 11, it's the closest to the midway point we can get. I'm not going to lie and say I wish you'd scored something a little bit more like Modest's, but a five doesn't have to be seen as a death sentence."

I know they're both just trying to cheer me up as best they can, and even though for the very first time in this whole experience it's all starting to feel real, even though I can feel the hope I've worn on my shoulder since day one slowly beginning to disappear, it's just enough to make me smile. "Thanks guys"

"You're welcome." Arachne jitters, pulling herself away from me and turning the telescreens off. "So, interviews won't be for another few hours, who feels like eating a Turkish delight soufflé or two?"

We both nod, and with a smile stretched across her alabaster face, Arachne hoists us up off the couch and into the kitchen, chattering on about the tasty morsels we can eat today as though they aren't the last few meals either of us will probably ever eat.

After all, with scores like a five and a seven, the odds of us coming out of this are looking grimmer than ever.

* * *

**Well there you have it, the tribute's scores. If you're like Cole and worried that a bad score means immediate death in the games, don't worry, it doesn't! Anyone could die, aannnnnyyyyyyoonnnnnee. ooooOoooOoOoOOOOOO *ghost impression.***

**The Poll for favorite characters is now closed, and I'll be including some hints as to who scored highly in the interviews. Up until the end it was a very very close race.**

******I'll try my best to get the next chapter up before the new year (or just after it)**

**Seeing as it's Christmas time, (Christmas Eve in fact where I am) all you lovely readers get virtual gifts!**

** if you consider yourself a seam baby, Prim is giving away baby goats and kittens! *take as many as you can care for***

** If you consider yourself a merchant class kid, Peeta has baked up a batch of excellent Christmas cookies *take as many as you can eat***

**If you consider yourself a Capitolite, have a rose from Snow's garden *oh yes, I can see this one being very popular...***

**And lastly, if you consider yourself a Career, have...ummm...some pride for your district.**

**Merry Christmas everyone! **


	20. The Interviews

**Gray Atrium, 16, D10**

The first thing I notice about our dressing room in Alistair Carthor's studio is that it's much nicer than the ones we were in before the parade. That's not that much of a surprise though considering the backstage of the parade is usually just slapped up together in the days before the reapings, while Alistair's show runs all year long. Of course his rooms are going to seem more permanent, and perhaps even a little fancier. After all, he gets some high profile guests on his regular show, not just measly little tributes. It makes sense that the rooms have a sense of grandeur about them.

There is a dressing screen dividing both myself and Jay, for the sake of our own modesty apparently, but I can still sort of see her outline through the thin patterned wood, and it does nothing to hide her whinging as her stylist attempts to pin the back of her dress together because the zip broke. Every now and again there's a pained intake of breath, followed by quiet cussing, and I can tell the stylist has badly miss judged her movements and stabbed Jay.

My own stylist finished dressing me a good twenty minutes ago and is sitting on the sofa, thumbing through a glossy magazine. Apparently my outfit, which is a bright orange shirt tucked into black pants with a black bow tie to match will be complimentary to Jay's outfit, Especially the spotless white shoes. I'm not sure how I feel about us matching again, not after the parade. We both looked ridiculous in our cowboy apparel.

"Alrighty Miss Fidget, we're all done!" Jay's stylist hollers, her voice sounding intentionally irritated. Let's show that district partner of yours what you look like!"

"Ok Ok." Jay grumbles, stepping past the divider and into my section of the room. In regards to us matching, it's pretty much just color wise. Her strapless gown is the same shade of peach and the strappy shoes are as bone white as my own dress shoes. She smiles when she sees me. "You look like some warped kind of jaffa."

"You look like peaches and cream." I say, poking my tongue out at her.

"Well I like both of those things so you look lovely and that's that." Her stylist snaps, before placing her hand up to her ear and fiddling with her ear piece. "Right you two it's time to go line up, the shows about to start!"

**Brock Emerald, 18, D1**

Aria is the first up for interviews and I've got to hand it to her, she does a fantastic job. As well as our training for the games, a lot of emphasis is put on creating a character profile for the pre games events, and Aria, unsurprisingly went for distant and mysterious. From the second she walked out onstage in her shimmering, diamanté encrusted navy gown, walking confidently across the stage both Alistair and the crowd are in absolute awe of her, much like me and the rest of the boys waiting in line behind me. Probably some of the girls too, who knows?

"Well my dear, you truly are a vision to behold." Alistair purrs, kissing her hand as she sits in the chair beside him.

"I think you might have just been dazzled by the dress Alistair, it is fairly glamorous." She muses, the corner of her mouth twitching into a barely there smile.

"Now now let's not be modest, look at yourself! You're positively glowing!" He says, before his eyes go wide and he reaches out, clutching hold of one of her arms. "My god, look at that lean definition! Good looking, excellent score and fitness to match, those other tributes better watch out, am I right?"

She doesn't answer him straight away and instead just stares at him, just long enough for it to be unsettling. "I guess we'll have to see about that, won't we?"

The rest of her interview goes along just fine, and before I know it my name is being cackled through the loudspeaker and I'm pushed out on stage. For the briefest moment the harsh, blinking lights confuse and disorientate me, but I somehow push through it, plastering an infectious smile that I'd honed just for this occasion, and strutting over to sit where Aria had been only moments before.

"Look at you, with a sparkling suit to match young Aria's."

I smile, having already anticipated a comment like this, and lean forward. "I've got the good looks to match hers as well, don't you think?"

The crowd hoots and hollers at my comment and old Alistair laughs. "Well I you don't seem to share her modesty do you?"

"Modesty? Now where's the fun in that?" I jibe, grinning at the audience, paying special attention to a group of teenage girls in the front row. Phoebus had identified them as being from a family who threw a lot of money into sponsorships and had told me to try and make them feel special. Judging from how bright red their faces are going, I think its working.

"I guess it's hard to be modest when you're the kind of kid who can pull an 11 in training. How did you do that?" Alistair asks.

"Now Alistair, you know as well as I do that we can't talk specifics. That's a secret I've got to take to my grave." I glance back towards the girls, focusing on the youngest, who by my guess would be the most impressionable, and smile weakly at her. "Hopefully I'm not dead and buried in the next few weeks hey?"

"Worried you won't win Mr. Emerald? Do I see a twinge of self-doubt in amongst all that pride?" Alistair prods.

I laugh it off. "Not really, I'm pretty confident of my chances. The only thing I've got to be worried about is being dazzled by Miss Sallow Mallow, but I like to think I've got that under control."

"Is that your fatal flaw, beautiful women?"

"I've got a friend back home who I'm sure is dying to hear me admit to that, but I'm not going to give her the satisfaction." I reply, looking dead on into one of the cameras and winking. I can already imagine Topaz sitting curled up in her lounge room back home, scowling at the telescreens and ranting about how I'm such an insensitive jerk, all the while with a big smile on her face, and for the first time since I got on that train I actually feel homesick.

**Rose Stroud, 17, D2**

Brock has hardly even placed one foot off stage before Alistair begins announcing my name and my dad gently pushes me up onto the heavily lit walk way. Remembering his careful advice, and even a few half-hearted words from Nymeria I push my shoulders back, hold my head high and wave to the audience as I go. Upon seeing me they all start screaming and cheering, far louder than the already impressive welcomes both Brock and Aria got and it makes me uncomfortable. Why am I getting so much attention?

Then I remember that I'm wearing my mother's dress.

It would have been hard work tracking it down, but seeing as I'm one of the first victor's children to participate in the games my stylists wanted to play on my heritage as much as they possibly could. The dress itself is iconic, just like my mother is. It's made out of intricate patterned black lace that clings to my body, with some of my skin visible through the little pattern openings. It'd probably be deemed risqué if it wasn't calf length and had sleeves to my elbows. A much younger Alistair had nicknamed her the angel of death after seeing her in that outfit, and it's a name that stuck, especially after she decapitated most of the other career kids in an epic finale. Years later, when she married my father, people would joke that 'the angel of death had married the devil and we should all prepare for the birth of the anti-christ'.

I'm really hoping that nickname doesn't get associated with me.

As I sit down beside him Alistair feigns confusion. "I'm sorry, but I swear I've seen this dress before. Wait, don't tell me, I'm sure I can figure this one out…I know! It was Agnes Granger's, or as she's now known, Agnes Stroud's dress, am I correct?"

"I think you know you are Alistair." I giggle back at him.

"Oh you've certainly inherited your mother's sass! You've ruined my little guessing game."

I try to think of how my mother would react in a situation like this, and reach over to pat his arm. "I'm sorry, do you want a tissue?"

"You little devil!" He laughs, pushing me away lightly and leaning back in his chair. "You really are your parent's progeny, I tell you what. Do you know how excited to see you compete we all are? Imagine if you come out a Victor, it'll be like a trifecta, won't it folks?"

The crowd roars in agreement, and all I can do is imagine how there is surely someone horrible out there that will pay to spend an hour with the family of victors, and suddenly I'm not feeling all that excited by the thought of being part of a trifecta.

**Flinch Lightwood, 17, D3**

As the boy from 2 rattles off his various abilities and strengths, Allius and I stand waiting in the wings for our turn to try and sell ourselves to the audience. Allius is so nervous she can't even manage to stay still, so I reach out and grab hold of her hip, steadying her.

"If you keep swaying around like that you'll knock something over."

"Good. They'll really like that, someone might have to do some work around here for once." She huffs, glancing over towards a group of stage hands who are all just chatting amongst themselves.

"Knowing what the Capitol is like they'd probably make you clean up the mess yourself."

"Or start a pageant to the death in honor of my treachery."

"Careful what you say around here, you never know who's listening Ally." I whisper. She just looks up at me with a look on her face I've never quite seen before. It's sad, and somewhat defeated.

"Who cares?" She sighs. "I'll probably be dead tomorrow anyway. They know it, I know it, it's sort of like a mutual agreement."

"You're not dying tomorrow and that's that."

"It's a possibility though."

"Some positive thinking might help you out a little here."

"Ok then," she mumbles, pressing her head against my chest. "Tonight I get to curl up in bed with you. That's a positive."

"Ally the other kids can see us, I whisper, glancing nervously behind me at Grant and Brynn, whose eyebrows are both raised. Usually realizing that she's being watched would be enough to send Allius jumping ten feet away from me and blushing brighter than a tomato, but something is different now. Instead she just wraps her arms around my neck and hugs me tightly.

"For once in my life, I actually don't care."

**Grant Green, 13, D4**

"So Grant, tell me a bit about yourself."

"I live in your average District 4 house with your average District 4 family. We fish, we swim, my siblings and I share a bedroom with our grandmother, it's not all that interesting really. I guess I haven't really lived long enough to have a story worth telling." I say, never once looking up to make contact with Alistair's freaky ochre eyes, instead choosing to focus on the strange coat of black paint my stylist has decorated my nails with.

"I guess you better go ahead and win this thing so you have a story to tell!" He beams at me, his queer pointed teeth just visible in my peripherals. Something about it sparks a memory, and I look up, eyes wide.

"Actually I do have a little sort of story. I had this next door neighbour, a boy about my age, and we were inseparable, you know, the kind of friends who spent every minute of every day together. My mother used to always say 'Grant, you need to some more friends ok?' and the thing is I never understood why she pushed it so much. I always thought it was because he was one or so years older than me. Do you know why my mother wanted me to make more friends Alistair?"

"Why?" He asks, his voice quiet, obviously a little uncomfortable with my mad rambling. It's not enough to deter me.

"Because his family was obsessed with the games, and they wanted him to volunteer and my mother knew all about it. She could have told me that from the start, but she didn't want to upset me."

Alistair leans forward and pats my shoulder in a show of apparent comfort. "A mother's love is a precious thing to have Grant. You're very lucky to have it."

I know I shouldn't say it, and I can already imagine how much grief Saline is going to give me when she gets hold of me, but I still let the words slip out. "Lucky? I'm sitting on the same chair my friend did last year before he died. The same thing that happened to him is probably going to happen to me. Do I look lucky to you?"

The crowd gasps and the buzzer goes off, even though both Alistair and I know I had at least another thirty seconds left.

Despite knowing I have a wrathful mentor waiting for me backstage, I'm just glad to be back out of the limelight.

**Jane Rooke, 18, D5**

As I'm ushered up on stage I can see Grant's mentor beating him across the face with a rolled up set list and screaming numerous curse words, and I can't help but feel sorry for him. I make a mental note not to say anything that would make my mentors treat me that way as I make my way over to Alistair.

When I hesitate to sit, Alistair pats the chair invitingly. "please mi lady, have a seat."

I try to sit down as gracefully as I can, but the dress they've put me in is rather short and an absolute nightmare to move in. When I eventually manage to sit Alistair cracks up laughing.

"I think we just lost a quarter of our interview time waiting for you to sit, we better speed talk our way through this."

"I'm not all that good at talking fast." I mumble, surprised that the tiny microphone they taped to one of my cheeks actually picked it up.

"What are you good at then Jane? Tell us all about it."

_Nothing,_ I want to say._ I'm terrible at pretty much everything other than being cripplingly lonely. _But I can't say that. I've got to sound like I'm at least somewhat functioning. "I'm pretty good at writing I suppose."

"Ahh, a young author in our midst! Perhaps if you make it out alive you'll write us a best seller, all about your games experience."

_Without all the ugly truths_, I think. I smile coyly at him. "Perhaps I shall. I keep a diary so I'll have plenty of notes to look back on."

"Oh I've heard about you, the girl with the diary token! How are you ever going to be able to write with it in there without a pen?"

This stumps me. "Truth be told I haven't thought that far ahead Alistair….but I'm sure I'll find a way."

**Lewis Natbotch, 15, D5**

"I sure do know that face!" Alistair guffaws as I sit down beside him. "You're that boy who literally ate dirt at his reaping, aren't you?"

"One and the same." I reply nervously, just waiting for him to make a mockery of me, just like everyone else always does.

Instead it's quite the opposite. "You made the reapings for me! My daughter and I laughed for days afterwards, and to think you recovered so well afterwards. Most other kids would have become a blubbering mess. You really surprised me."

"Well, thank you, I guess."

"No problem kidling. So, how are you liking the Capitol?"

I grin. "I'd be lying if I said the food wasn't magnificent."

"Oh yes, I can only imagine how bland your usual meals would seem now you've been treated to serious luxury, am I right?"

"Oh yes, absolutely. I've developed a real love for those fig tarts they serve at lunchtimes." I say, my stomach growling even at the thought of those delicious little morsels. It's strange to think I could still be starving hungry after gorging myself for days, but old habits die hard I suppose.

**Katie Chandler, 12, D6**

When I come onstage I'm met with thunderous applause, almost equal to the welcome the Stroud girl got when she made her appearance, but not quite. That doesn't bother me though. I haven't won the crowd over with a gimmicky dress and the good luck of being born into Hunger Games royalty, I've won them over of my own accord, and nothing feels more satisfying than that.

Alistair smiles warmly at me. "I was going to say that's a very pretty dress you're wearing, but I don't want you to think I'm being condescending, especially after you scored an 11."

I feign sheepish childhood shyness and bat my eyes at him. "I don't think it'd be condescending, it is a pretty dress after all." I take a fistful of the white fabric in each of my hands and do a clumsy curtsy, before dropping down into my seat, both feet flying up into the air as I do so. The aww from the crowd is so sickly sweet it almost makes me want to barf, but I've got to keep this act up for a little while longer.

"How does someone your size even manage an 11?" Alistair asks playfully, sipping a mouthful of his drink. I smile widely at him.

"I don't really know. I just made it up as I went along and they liked what they saw I guess." I pull my hand up to my mouth and act horrified. "Oh gosh, was I allowed to say that?"

"Yes of course, as long as you don't tell us what went on in there it's all well and good."

"Thank goodness!" I sigh, exhaling loudly and making the crowd laugh. It really is funny how people can be so easily fooled by someone's appearance. None of them are ever going to see what's coming when I get into that arena, and I only wish I could be on the outside watching it myself. I do put on a pretty good show.

**Luke Pallas, 17, D7**

"I'm pretty much the provider for my family now my father's gone." I tell Alistair, wringing my hands together as we speak.

"Let me guess, you volunteered to try and give them a better life, am I right?" He asks.

I nod. "I guess it sounds kind of stupid."

"Oh no no no my dear boy, it makes plenty of sense to me. We get plenty of children volunteering every year for the exact same reason. If any reason for volunteering makes sense, doing it for your family makes the most."

_Unless I die. Then they're pretty much left to fend for themselves._

"Hopefully this mad gamble pays off then hey?" I say, my voice low and so full of emotion I can hardly bare it. I know my family will be sitting next to the projector watching this, arms wrapped tightly around each other, my little sister trying her hardest to be brave and not to cry. It's enough to break my heart.

Alistair grins at me. "If you want it badly enough, It should."

**Hercules Strong, 18, D9**

My suit is leaning a little bit more towards the too tight side of things than the comfortable, and I can't stop fidgeting around in my seat, much to Alistair's amusement. "Suit a few sizes to small is it Herc?"

"Yeah, I don't think formal wear is really my thing."

"I imagine this is the first time you've ever worn anything better than District issued hand me downs. You've spent much of your life in an orphanage, am I right?"

The statement is so brash and to the point that I'm taken aback for a moment. If we were anywhere else, I'd have found such a remark insulting, and probably would have refused to carry on the conversation. That isn't an option here however. For now I've got to put my pride back up on the shelf and smile like I haven't just been slyly ridiculed on national television.

"Yes. It's not the life I would have chosen for myself, but life could have been a lot worse."

"I'm sure it could have." Alistair gushes, grinning at the crowd. "It'll be a whole lot better if you win the games. Tell me, what do you plan to do if you win?"

"I'd take my brother out of the orphanage and try to set him up for a good life, better than the one we've already lived. Maybe have him move in to the Victor's village with me. I bet it gets a bit lonely up there." I think back to the empty houses on the one and only hill in the district, a stark symbol of our district's failure to get anyone back home once their name is pulled from the glass bowl. "Of course, that's only going to happen if I do win this thing. I mean twenty four to one sounds bad, but there have been worse odds."

"Well Hercules Strong, let's hope the odds are in your favour this year." Alistair booms, sending the crowd into a mad frenzy at the mention of the Capitol's favorite catch phrase, and I can't help but feel disgusted by them all.

**Rye Goldsmith, 16, D11**

"So Alistair, tell me a little bit about yourself."

"I think I'm the one that's supposed to be asking the questions here." He replies, looking at me quizzically.

"Well I figure it's only fair that I find out some things about you if you're going to find out all about me."

"Surely you know plenty about me Rye." He laughs tilting his face towards one of the cameras. "I am on air five nights a week after all!"

"I'm afraid I don't have a telescreens where I live." I mumble, trying to sound as dejected as I possibly can. He gasps, staring at me with wide disbelieving eyes.

"Don't have a telescreen? But everyone has a telescreen! Surely you'd have a fantastic one in your living room, what with being the Mayor's daughter and all."

"I haven't lived in my father's house for a very long time. I've actually been fending for my life in the wilderness with a wild pack of dogs, letting the dirt and grime build up on my skin. It's hard work keeping up with those wolves, I tell you what."

Alistair stares at me, his face scrunched together in confusion. "Forgive me, but are you being serious?"

"God no!" I laugh, leaning back in my chair. "Living with a pack of wolves? That's ridiculous. But the rest of it, yeah, that's pretty much my life summed up in a sentence."

"Why ever would you leave the comforts of home for a life like that?"

I take a deep breath and look into the nearest camera, my face dead pan, because I know somewhere back in District 9 my father is watching this, knowing that I'm about to blow his all-round family man image. "My dad's got twitchy fists, and a foul temperament to match." I say, my voice as cold as ice. "I took the brunt of his outbursts, so I got out as fast as I could."

No one in the audience says a word; the whole place is dead silent as they take in what I'm saying. People are familiar with the District Mayors because they often end up being interviewed as well as family members over the games period. I bet they're all thinking of the sweet man from 11 who always speaks so highly of his tributes on the telesecreens. I can imagine him back home, his face twisting up, all red with anger as he throws the glass of whisky he's holding against the closest wall, smashing it to pieces, the rest of my family waiting to feel his wrath, and for them alone I feel terribly sorry for what I've just said, but the destruction of his integrity is enough to calm my conscience.

**Airick Marloth, 15, D8**

The hours after the interviews pass by in a blur. Amity forces Vivian and I to sit down and watch the whole entire interviews show all over again, to see if there is anything we can learn from our opponents. There isn't really that much, so instead she just decides to try and give us a few shreds of advice.

"Avoid the Cornucopia. It's a death trap. You'll be like flies to honey. If you see something close to your pedestal and think you can grab it, by all means go for it, but I'm warning you, it's a massive risk. Look out for the kids with knives. They like to show off their long distance skills a lot of the time and they are generally sadists."

"Any survival tips for post bloodbath?" Vivian asks, probably as confused as I am in regard to Amity's disjointed advice.

"I'm bad at this." She sighs pouring her sixth glass of orange liquor, "I've never even done one of the survival adventure tours they run in some of the old Arena's. Remind me to make a mental note to do one of those."

I want to tell her it'll be hard for us to remind her of that when we're dead, but instead I just try to put her back on track. "Are you sure you don't have anything to say, anything at all?"

"I could tell you to find water. I could tell you to avoid the Careers and not eat any little blue berries or to never sleep in the open where you can be easily found, but you should know I've told a good few tributes those kind of things in my time, and I'm not all too sure whether things like that are helpful in the end."

It might just be the copious amounts of alcohol she's consumed, but Amity looks as miserable as she says this and it breaks my heart. "I'm sure it'll be helpful. You've been a great help."

She smiles at me, her rainbow contact lenses looking strange against her alcohol induced tears, and then to both our surprise she wraps an arm around Vivian and I.

"I'm going to go to bed before I blubber all over you two. See you in the morning."

A lump forms in my throat at the mention of the word morning, and it stays there long after Amity totters off to bed. Tomorrow morning it all begins. Or ends, depending on how I want to look at it.

* * *

**Agh I am so late updating this! the New Years period has been absolutely hectic!**

**Well with the interviews done and dusted, I think you all know what's coming up next...THE BLOODBATH! I'm both so excited to be getting into the games and depressed because I'm going to have to kill off some of these wonderful tributes now. Let me know your bloodbath predictions hey?**

**See you guys at the Cornucopia ;)**


	21. Let The Games Begin

**Well guys its finally here; The Bloodbath! I figured I should probably just leave a short warning at the start regarding violence and minor gore, because well, It's the Bloodbath after all!**

* * *

**Lewis Natbotch, 15, D5**

Our final meal, a breakfast fit for a king, is near impossible for me to swallow. It's not that the food is inedible, as usual it tastes as close to perfection as bacon scrolls and goats cheese stuffed tomatoes can. It's because I'm so nervous my mouth has gone dry, making the food feel like half dried glue, while anything that I manage to choke down reacts badly with my stomach, it's constant somersaults turning the food round and round and making me want to just throw it all up again.

Jane notices my struggle and looks at me sympathetically. "I know how you feel. This sucks." She says, spitting a mouthful of bacon into her napkin and grimacing. "You know in the old days they used to just throw people in volcanoes."

"I wonder why they don't just do that to us. It'd be way less expensive that's for sure." I say, trying as hard as I can not to vomit at the thought of my body disintegrating in a pool of lava, one more possible death to add to the many mental images that have been plaguing me for the last few days.

Jane looks down at her hands and sighs. "Watching other people physically suffer isn't enough anymore. It's the mental anguish we go through, that's the real selling point. Let's send a bunch of children into an arena and watch their sanity disappear along with their lives. What more could anyone want? It's just as fun watching someone claw their own face off as it is watching them doing it to someone else."

I can't hold it in after that. I throw up all over my plate, and then later, on the way to the hovercraft, I throw up again.

**Jay Bird, 14, D10**

The launch room is deadly cold, and even with my full length pants and light brown parka on it still gets through, making my skin crawl. I can't help but wonder whether they've set the temperature at this level to make us feel uncomfortable, or whether it's their subtle way of letting us know that while the outfit looks like it'll protect us from the elements, it's really just a clever ploy to make us suffer even more.

"How are you feeling?" My stylist asks. For a moment I think she actually might care a little, and I let a little fantasy play out in my mind where I let her hug me while I cry about how afraid I am. But when I look up to answer her, I can see that she doesn't give a damn what happens to me. I'm guessing she's just asking me how I feel because she's supposed to, she's just following the rules the Capitol have set out for her. So I push that thought out of my mind and try to look as fearless as I can.

"I feel fine thank you. Perfectly fine."

**Demeter Ross, 17, D9**

"Thirty Seconds."

This is it. I've got a full thirty seconds left to get myself into the tube, followed by another minute of waiting, eyeing off my opponents, waiting for the gong to sound and the horror to begin. I suppose there is some comfort in the fact that three of those opponents are for the time being, allies, but it's not enough to stop my knees my shaking, or my lip from trembling, or even a few traitorous tears falling onto my cheeks. The chance of me dying in the next five minutes is too high for any calming thought to soothe for fears.

One step, then another, and another, before I'm in the tube. The minute my whole body is inside it the glass swivels round, sealing me inside, my heavy breathing the only sound I'm able to hear. On the outside I can see my stylist looking at me with a faint, if somewhat encouraging smile on her face, then there is a loud sound, like air rushing through valves and pipes, and suddenly my pedestal is being lifted through the tube.

**Brynn Halee, 17, D4**

As I'm lifted up into the Arena, the first thing I feel is my heart hammering against my chest, pumping blood and hopefully some adrenaline through my veins at a speed I can't believe is even possible. Then I feel woozy, almost dizzy, like I've just spun around in circles a hundred times with my face pointed to the sky.

It's been drilled into us a thousand times over not to move too much once the platform clicks in place, because of the risk of falling off and blowing ourselves to pieces. I'd never been too worried about that happening to me, but as I soon as I see my surroundings I start to panic.

The Cornucopia is in a clearing flanked by short, stunted looking trees and bushes on one side, while the other side, the one that I myself am facing, is a flat rocky cliff face. One of many rocky cliff faces and tree covered precipices surrounding us actually. The part of me that's afraid of heights searches frantically for the ground below so I can judge just how high up we actually are, but after about one hundred metres all I can see is a thick blanket of fog that's swirling around the jagged edges, blocking anything below that level completely from my view.

If I thought my heart had been going fast before, it might as well have just morphed into a hummingbird.

**Airick Marloth, 15, D8**

Vivian and I had planned on just running straight for the hills and avoiding the Cornucopia entirely, but that's no longer an option for me. If I was to just head in the opposite direction from my starting point, I'd be running off a cliff. Vivian is closer to the tree line, if you can even call it that, so she can still follow the plan. I however have no other option.

_20, 19, 18, 17, 16,_

I've got to go in.

_15, 14, 13, 12, 11,_

I try to look for the best way to get to Viv without having to go through the centre of the Cornucopia, but when my eyes find the best route my heart stops. No more than six tributes away from me is Brock Emerald.

_10, 9, 8,_

To get to her I'll have to go past him. It's the only way, I'll just have to hope to god he doesn't see me. _Please don't let him see me._

7, 6, 5, 4,

He turns his head, eyes locking onto me, and my blood turns cold as ice.

_3, 2,_

He's seen me. I'm going to have to be quick.

_1._

The gong sounds, and as it does I leap off the platform and into total and utter chaos. I can see Brock ahead of me, running towards the Cornucopia, keeping a close eye on me as he does so. Heart pounding, I push myself harder, hoping that I can get past him before he gets a weapon and comes back for me.

But as luck would have it, there's a small spear sitting pretty no more than five metres from his starting place, which is the first thing he goes for.

I know he's a lot more comfortable wielding it in close combat than he is at throwing it, so I try my best to run wide around him, trying to keep as much distance between he and myself as I possibly can. Unfortunately I'm so busy watching where he is that I'm not keeping tabs on where I'm running, and I smack straight into the girl from 12. I brace myself, getting ready for a fight, but she's weaponless, just like me, and instead she just scrambles back onto her feet and runs. I go to do the same, but a strong arm pulls me back down, knocking the wind out of me.

"Told you was coming for you first District 8." Brock growls, raising the spear up in the air above me. Just as he goes to bring it swinging down I kick out at his shin with enough force to unsteady him, and then I kick again, sending him reeling backwards, giving me a split second to crawl out of his reach and get back on my feet.

I know he's right behind me and that I'm more or less doomed, but I can't just sit here and wait for that spear to pierce my skin. I've got to at least try and get away.

As I turn to make a run for the woods someone else slams into me hard and I fall to the ground, inhaling a mouthful of dirt as my face smacks into it. There is a loud thump beside me as whoever it was hits the ground, coughing and gasping for air, blood pouring out of their mouth and a spear stuck fast in their back. Bile rises up in my throat as I recognize the face.

It's Viv.

Her body shakes ever so slightly, and then she's gone, her once vibrant green eyes dulled forever.

Above her Brock is standing still as a statue, his face wrinkled up in absolute horror and disgust. Right now, in this moment, it's like I'm not even there anymore. All he can do is stare at the girl he just killed, a girl only a few days before he was trying to pick up. He must have been aiming at me and hit her instead, when she pushed me out of the way. Out of his way.

The thought of what she's just done is almost too much to bear.

I know I only have a few seconds left before he snaps back to attention, so as much as it pains me to leave her side, as much as it rips me to pieces, I get up and I run like hell, never once looking back, just in case Brock is already racing after me. It's not until I reach the tree line that I realize I could have taken that spear and turned it back on him.

**Aria Mallow, 18, D1**

Every hour spent training back home has led up to this moment, and I'm on fire. Even with the strange bout of nausea and dizziness that hit me as I entered the Arena I'm still in control of my body, just like I should be. I've been trained to deal with all kinds of pain. A little dizziness isn't going to stop me.

I'm the first to reach the Cornucopia and I waste no time searching for a set of knives. There are crates and crates of food and simple weapons lying everywhere inside the thing, but the best ones are right up the back, in the tail end, and that's where I'm headed. That's where I find them; a perfect set of five knives in their own little belt, sitting atop a crate of water. Without a moment's hesitation I pick the belt up and fasten it tightly around my waist, just as I hear a bunch of crates crashing down behind me.

I twist around to see Rose, a dagger clutched tightly in her hand, clawing wildly at the girl from 10, who's fallen on top of her, a thin line of blood leaking from a cut on her forehead. Even though Rose is the one with the weapon she's losing the fight, because Jay's got her pinned good and wedged in between a pair of the crates their mad brawl has just knocked over.

I run towards them, unsheathe one of my knives and plunge it into Jay's back. Neither she or Rose had seen me coming, and while Rose's eyes grow wide in shock Jay's whole body spasms, the muscles in her shoulder reacting violently to the knife in wedged between their blades, before Rose frees an arm and slashes her dagger clumsily across the girls throat. It's a move I know she instantly regrets as Jay crumples down on top of her, covering Rose's face, neck and shoulders in blood.

As Rose starts to scream and hyperventilate I shove Jay's lifeless body away from her and pull her to her feet.

"Shut up damn it. You wanna stay alive Rose?"

"Y-yes." She stutters, wiping a hand across her cheek to smear away some of the blood.

"Then pull yourself together."

**Russell Darcy, 14, D6**

I'm too smart to take my chances and go for one of the better items in the centre of the Cornucopia. I know all too well I'd never make it back out of their alive. Instead I race towards a small purple and black backpack on the ground a few metres in front of me and snatch it up. It's probably no bigger than a loaf of bread, but it's heavy for its size, and that can't be a bad thing in my books.

As I hoist it across my shoulder I can already see Katie disappearing into the shrubbery to the left of me; a mesh bag full of apples swinging wildly in her hand as she runs. I set off after her, my ears ringing from all the screaming and shouting going on around me, pumping my legs faster than I ever have before.

Just as I reach the tree line Gray atrium does as well, a bladder full of water and a packet of dried fruit clutched in his hands. It must have been hard work getting hold of those items, because the sleeve on his right arm has been slashed open, the blood seeping through it making the green fabric turn brown. We stare at each other for a split second, sizing our prizes up, seeing whether we want to risk our lives for them. Gray holds my gaze for a few agonizing seconds, before taking me completely by surprise and holding his hands up in the air.

"I don't want to fight you." He says. " Allies?"

I have only a few seconds to decide to trust him before someone sees us standing like a pair of Looneys on the edge and comes to finish us off. The deciding factor is that if I were to say no, I'd probably have to fight him instead and right now I'm just not up to that.

"Alright, this way." I resolve, pointing in the direction I saw Katie disappear in and starting to run. Gray follows, and the two of us leave the screaming and snarling of the bloodbath behind, each with one less person out here trying to kill us.

**Grant Green, 13, D4**

When Jane and I had spoken about our bloodbath strategy, she'd been dead set against going in for supplies, saying it was far too dangerous. Eager to impress her I'd disagreed, saying I'd go in to gather what we needed and meet her afterwards. Right now, as I'm dodging and darting through the most frightening experience of my whole life, I wish I'd just listened to her and avoided it all.

Despite the fact that I've kept my distance from the other Careers throughout our training, the other tributes seem reluctant to challenge me, so I make it almost half way in and pick up a large, dirty green duffel bag. There's a gap towards the west where no one seems to be fighting, so I choose that as an escape route.

Everything goes well at first, but when I'm just about to pass the platforms a fist comes flying out of nowhere, connecting with my nose with enough force to send me crashing into the ground.

Luke stands above me, his eyes wide with terror, before leaning down to punch me again. I deflect the hit with one arm and send the palm of my hand up against his nose, feeling it crack. He screams and goes to punch me again, this time connecting with my jaw, sending me reeling. I reach out again to block his next move, but he's too strong for me. Both of his hands wrap tightly around my throat and he literally starts squeezing the life out of me.

Just as the world starts to black out, someone jumps on his back like a monkey and slams something that -with my woozy vision- looks a lot like a frying pan into his head, stunning him, before slamming it into him again, and then again and again. He slumps to the side, his body lifeless and his head sticky with blood.

I'm waiting for his attacker to finish me off, but instead a hand grips tightly around my wrist and pulls me to my feet. As my eyesight starts to return I realize that the person helping me up is none other than Brynn. She doesn't look well; her face is so pale I'm afraid she'll throw up on me, and she's really unsteady on her feet.

"Get out of here Grant." She says, pushing me, before turning back to the bloodbath, dropping what I know can see is a club as she goes. For the briefest second I watch her go, thankful for her saving my life, before hoisting the duffel over my shoulder and running for the trees.

**Modest Kline, 14, D12**

I've only just managed to pick up a pack and a small weapon when I hear Cole screaming. I can't fathom how I managed to identify it through all the other foul noises flooding my ear drums, but it pushes right through, sending chills all the way down my spine and forcing me into panic mode. Only a moment ago he was behind me, and now I can't find him anywhere.

He screams again, this time not out of fear, but in pain, the kind of guttural sound an animal makes when it's mortally wounded. This time my ears work with my eyes to find him, and when I do my heart breaks. He's lying on the ground at Jarred Emery's feet, a thin spear stuck deep into his gut, while he tries desperately to claw it out with his hands, gasping in agony with each failed attempt.

Jarred reveals another spear, holding it up and getting ready to strike him again. Even though Cole's still alive, I know there is nothing I can do for him anymore, so with tears pouring down my face, I turn my back and make my way out of all this horror.

I get no more than six steps and he screams again, this time in terror, before its cut short. Just like his life.

**Allius Winters, 17, D3**

In an unsurprising act of cruelty the Gamemakers positioned Flinch and I on opposing ends of the Cornucopia, forcing us to make our way through it to get to each other.

I find him in the centre, slashing out with a sickle at the boy from 5. He slices into the back of the kids parka and hits the skin, drawing blood, but the boy gets up and runs for it, sprinting away without a single item in his hand.

"Flinch!" I call out, bring his attention towards me, and the look of relief I find in his eyes is almost too adorable to be found in a place like this.

He rushes towards me and grips onto one of my hands tightly. "Run."

He's faster than me, he always has been, and I struggle to keep up. If it wasn't for him dragging me along I'd probably lose him again, and the thought of being left alone here is enough to make me pick up the pace. We're both running so fast it's almost like we're flying.

And then suddenly I am flying, or rather being lifted into the air, and I lose my hold on Flint's hand.

"Flinch!" I scream out, kicking my legs behind me, trying to get them to come into contact with my assailant, with no success. As Flint turns around I'm pulled up against the tributes chest, and I can feel his breathe, hot and heavy, against my cheek. Just the slightest tilt of my neck, and I can see who has hold of me.

It's Jarred Emery.

"Allius!" Flint screams starting to run back towards me, but as he does so Jarred presses a knife against my throat, and I know that it's already over. The blade slices across my skin, and all the light disappears, leaving me to fade into darkness.

**Flint Lightwood, 17, D3**

It's over so quick I can't even process it. One second she was screaming out at me, struggling in that brutal looking boy's arms, and then she was limp as a ragdoll. None of it makes sense, it can't make sense. She can't be dead.

Except she is.

When he drops her body onto the ground, as though she's nothing, that's when it starts to hurt. That's when the anger starts to boil up inside me. The scream that comes out of my mouth is less than human, and the tears that come are so heavy they blur my vision.

He doesn't even look at me, in fact, I'm not even sure he knows I'm here, or that I was holding her hand before he grabbed hold of her. He just runs back to the battle, leaving her body to bleed out on the dusty earth. More than anything I want to go to her, to just cradle her body in my arms until the hovercraft comes to take her away, but I know I can't, I know I'd just wind up dying beside her, and even though I'd give anything to be dead right now, I know she wouldn't want that. She'd want me to at least try. So seeing as I've already failed her in the biggest way I possibly can, I'm not going to purposely disappoint her.

I take one last look before leaving her behind, my heart breaking with each and every step.

**Cyra Hale, 15, D7**

By what I can only assume is dumb luck, myself and the other three in our little alliance are still alive five minutes into the games. Rye's been lying down near the dead kid from 12 for about three minutes now, covered in his blood, pretending to be dead, while the rest of us gather supplies. She's hoping that once the carnage is over the Careers will clear out so the hovercrafts can collect the bodies, giving her a chance to access some of the better weapons, while also making our little alliance look disjointed.

This little part of her grand plan –of which not all information is yet available to the rest of us- serves the purpose of convincing the Careers that our alliance has crumbled to pieces, and that we'll all be going it on our own now that we've lost our 'fearless' leader. Demeter and Herc even had a mock scuffle over a pack at the start, something I found to be a bit risky. Apparently this is all necessary for our little troupe to be as 'sneaky as possible'.

Right now I don't feel very sneaky. I feel terrified. I can hardly even breathe, and everything I'm carrying feels too heavy.

Hercules howls, signalling that it's time for us to clear out, and we each make our separate ways into the woods. I'd felt dizzy from the start, but now I feel even worse; I can barely even concentrate on where I'm putting my feet. It's a miracle that I manage to get to the trees without anyone trying to kill me.

The ground around the trees is rocky and more than a little slippery, and once you get past the thicker bushland it becomes harder to find a place to hide. Every now and again I find myself walking too close to the edge of this particular ledge and almost fall down into the churning mass of fog below. Something about that fog makes feel uncomfortable, and I find myself distancing myself further away from it than I'd intended.

I've been struggling along for a good five minutes before Demeter and Herc find me. Both of them are huffing and puffing as they come to a stop.

"Thank god we got out of there." Demeter mutters, her voice all shaky. She looks up at me as though she's going to say something more, but she stops, instead staring at me, her face twisted together in horror.

"What?" I wheeze, feeling drool pour out of my mouth as I speak. I reach up instantly to wipe it off and as I bring my hand back down again I realize what she's staring at.

It wasn't drool. It was blood. A lot of blood.

What I'd put down to just being back pain from carrying a heavy pack suddenly gets worse, the pain shooting through me with such intensity that I reach around on reflex, and that's when I find it. A knife, stuck deep into the soft fleshy part that my skeleton can't protect. A wave of nausea hits me and I fall hard, hitting the ground, my breathing so loud and desperate now that I can't believe I didn't notice it was a warning sign as I was running through the bloodbath before.

Herc rushes over towards me, kneeling down to pick up my head and resting it in his lap. "How didn't you know that was there?" He asks, his eyes darting back and forth in confusion. "How did you even make it this far from the Cornucopia?"

"Adrenaline." Demeter answers for me, my own attempt to answer the question coming out as a faint echo only seconds after. She kneels down beside us and hides her face in her hands, whispering curse words as fat little tears run through the gaps between her fingers. "We were so close to getting out of this fine. All of us. We were so close."

I don't even have enough energy to reply; it's like I used up all my energy trying to get away from the carnage, and now it's fading away faster than I can believe.

It hits me that I had just one more sleep left before I turned sixteen. Last year I spent the day before my birthday in my fort, the one I'd crafted so carefully, laughing and joking with my sister and best friend. This year I'm dying in an Arena, which has also been crafted with care, but instead of fun it's been designed for killing, and in the place of my sister and Rai is a boy I hardly know and a girl who he knows better.

The almost ironic nature of these two circumstances isn't lost on me as my wheezing breath comes to a stop.

* * *

Tributes Killed this Chapter:

24- Vivian May, aged Sixteen, District 8

23- Jay Bird, aged fourteen, District 10

22- Luke Pallas, aged seventeen, District 7

21- Cole Mackenzie, aged fourteen, District 12

20- Allius Winters, aged seventeen, District 3

19- Cyra Hale, aged fifteen, District 7

* * *

**Well there you have it guys, that's the bloodbath over and done with! **

**It was so hard killing those who died, as I've become attached to all the tributes and struggled to figure out who was going to be bowing out in the bloodbath. For those of you whose tributes have gone on to join the fallen, I hope I managed to do them justice. **

**See you guys next chapter!**


	22. shadows

**Katie Chandler, 12, D6**

A part of me is sourly disappointed I didn't participate in the bloodbath, the part of me that's impulsive and destructive. Thank god I know better than to over indulge that side of myself. Fighting in the bloodbath would have only meant death for me. With my small and still pitifully childish physique I never would have been able to take even a dullard like Russ out. Speed and cunning are reserved for dodging your way out of the bloodbath, not fighting in it; that's all brute strength and in the Career kid's cases, careful choreography, I'm sure. So as much as it pained me I had to just grab what I could and go.

It wasn't all fruitless though. Of the two pathetic knives I found next to the sack of apples, I did manage to pitch one of them into the girl from 7's back as she ran past me. Now I just have to wait for the message regarding The Fallen to see if I did her the damage I'm hoping for.

Judging from how deep it sank into her skin, she wouldn't have much of a chance, but she did manage to run out of there just fine, so who knows?

I've been waiting for Russell in amongst a patch of tall grass before I hear footsteps coming my way. I crouch low and pull my remaining knife from my pocket, keeping my eyes trained in the direction of the steps. Russell comes jogging through the trees, clearly shaken, but not in enough of a hurry to be being followed, and yet I can still hear footsteps behind him. Perplexed I refrain from calling out to him a moment longer, in which time the boy from 10 appears behind him, as relaxed in Russell's company as he is in mine.

"Russ." I hiss, stopping both he and the other boy in their tracks.

"That you Katie?" He asks, his voice sounding frightened and his breathing heavy.

"If it wasn't me you'd probably be dead now." I tell him as I poke my head up from out of the grass. I glance at the boy from 10. "What is he following you for?"

"He's fine Katie. He wants to be allies."

"I'm Gray." The boy says, stretching his hand out to shake mine.

I shake it warily and dump the bag of apples near his feet. "I saw your district partner die when I got these apples. The girls from 1 and 2 bled her out like a pig. What a funny joke that is. You know, pig, District 10,_ livestock_."

The boy's face goes bone white and Russ looks at me shocked. "That's not funny Katie. Why'd you have to be so brutal?"

I shrug. "I dunno. It was pretty brutal, why sugar coat it? We are in the games after all."

Russell goes to say something else but just as he does a loud boom erupts above us, followed by another, and another. It's only once the sixth one sounds and all goes quiet that we realize it's the sound of the canons going off.

"That's six dead." Gray mumbles. "That's a quarter of us already gone."

"I wonder who else is dead?" Russell adds, his voice quivering and shaking just from the thought of all that death, I'm sure.

I don't really have any time to sit around and ponder the deaths of my fellow tributes, so I clear my throat. "Ok guys, we need to get a move on. We've got no idea where any of the others are and we haven't distanced ourselves far enough from the Cornucopia, so I suggest we get going."

"Smart little thing isn't she?" Gray mutters, taking a sip from his water bladder.

I smile up at him. "Of course I am. I'd have to be smart to score an 11, wouldn't I?"

**Flinch Lightwood, 17, D3**

I run until there is nowhere else for me to go, until I'm at the edge of a ledge that leads to nowhere, just dropping off into that swirling mass of fog that hurts to look at. In the distance I can see the sun, or whatever it is they've engineered to look like the sun burning brightly, all alone in an all too cloudless sky. It reminds me of reaping day and sitting up on the roof waiting for it to rise with all my friends. _With her._

I can't hold it in after that. I fall to the ground, curling up around myself as I do, and all I can do is cry. Up until this moment I never really understood what people meant when they say they're heartbroken. I'd always thought it was just some fanciful word that didn't make sense in the literal sense, like the cartoon version of a heart. But know I know exactly how very real that phrase is. It's like someone has pushed their hand into my chest and squeezed my heart, making the space around it go tight, until it can't stand the pressure any longer and everything just shatters, making every breath I take cut through me like ice. I can feel my failure rippling through all that pain as well, making it worse, stinging the few places her death is yet to touch, like a physical reminder that I'll never see her face again and it's all my fault. It was my job to protect her, to keep her safe, and I failed.

I failed my Ally, and now she's gone.

I don't know how long I've been lying there before Modest appears. I don't even realize she's there at first. It's not until her hand gently rests on the top of my back that I'm even aware I have company.

"Flinch, It's me, Modest, the girl from 12."

"Are you going to kill me?" I ask, aware that my voice is wavering everywhere, unable to even remotely hold back an ounce of the pain wreaking havoc in my mind and body.

"No Flinch, we're allies, remember?"

"What a shame." I mumble, rolling over to look at her, trying to hide how bloodshot my eyes must be from her as I do so. "How long have you been watching me?"

"I saw you leave the bloodbath not long after I did, so I followed you." She snuffles, wiping her sleeve across her nose, and it's then that I realize she's also been crying. "I tried to keep up, but you're a lot faster than me."

"You lost your partner too, didn't you?" I question, to which she answers with a fresh batch of tears. I reach up and pat her on the shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry about Allius." She sniffs, looking away.

"Yeah, me too."

**Jarred Emery, 17, D2**

There are six bodies lying around the Cornucopia. Six dead to match the six cannon blasts that went off only a few minutes ago. The girl from 11 is curled up beside the boy from 12, both of their bodies coated in dark, sticky blood. The girl from 3 is lying where I left her, her body twisted around unnaturally. Not far from her are the boy from 7 and the girl from 8, both of them with their eyes wide open, staring into nothing. Brock is crouched down beside the girl with his hands cupped across his cheeks. I make my way over to him.

"Is she your kill?" I ask, nudging her arm with the edge of my boot. He looks at my boot first and then up, his eyes brimming over with disgust.

"Yes." He chokes out.

"Well then, remind me never to turn you down."

This time he looks at me with fiery hatred, before standing up and pushing past me. "I was aiming for her district partner, she got in the way."

"Guess that makes you a terrible shot then." I mock, following closely behind him. "See the kid from 12? I hit him from half way across the clearing."

"Good for you Jarred." A voice calls out to the left of me, and when I turn I can see Aria and Rose sitting on top of a crate. Aria is busily dabbing disinfectant on a cut on Rose' arm, not looking at me, but I can still hear her next comment loud and clear. "It must have been so hard to pin down a starving child."

"He was fourteen Aria." I hiss at her, "When I was fourteen I was training fifteen hour days."

"Well aren't you blessed." Rose laughs, taking me by surprise. "We should all aspire to be like you shouldn't we?"

"As opposed to being like the spoilt brat who's never had to work for anything in her life? Yeah, you should."

She starts to say something else but Aria stops her, peering up at the sky. "Can anyone else hear that?" She asks.

"Yes," Brynn croaks, pulling herself up a few paces away. "The hovercrafts are on their way. We better clear out."

**Rye Goldsmith, 16, D11**

The wait for the hovercrafts to finish taking the bodies is agonising. I'm already stiff from lying still for so long, but now that I know relief is near the pain has become unbearable. When the clamp pulls Cole's lifeless body up from next to me his hand drapes across my face, filling my nostrils with the scent of his already decaying blood. If I hadn't already covered myself in the stuff half an hour beforehand it would have been enough to make me vomit. Instead I just roll away from the body and stand up, careful not to watch it disappear inside the metal craft.

They've still got to collect District 8 and District 10's bodies, so I've got perhaps another ten or so minutes to get what I need while they try and manoeuvre into the Cornucopia to snatch up Jay's body. I look around nervously, searching for signs of the Careers, before darting into the Cornucopia to get myself some pirate booty.

The first thing I come across is a crate full of water, complete with a working tap on the side. As fast as I can I turn the thing on and start washing the blood from my skin, trying not to focus on how the water is transferring my stains to the ground, dyeing it a filthy rust color. Once I'm finished I reach down to twist it off, but then think better of it and let it continue running. The less resources the Careers have the better, I'll say.

"Now the Goddess of Harvest should have a scythe," I mumble to myself, pulling a sleek silver scythe from off the back wall and twisting it around in my hand. To me it feels long and uncomfortable, but I'm sure Demeter will be able to handle it well. She always seemed to do fine in the training sessions with the longer weapons. It'll have to do.

Not far from that is a bow made from some strange, dark metal with arrows to match. I sling both of those over my shoulder, knowing Herc will appreciate those. He keeps telling us he's a fantastic hunter so these should definitely come in handy. For myself and Cyra I just grab a pair of daggers.

There's a loud clanking sound behind me, followed by the harsh snap of the metal clamp shutting tight around Jay's body. That means I've probably got less than five minutes before the hovercrafts clear out and the Career's start to make their way back here. For the first time in a long time I find myself feeling seriously nervous. I rush over to a crate labelled 'provisions' and rip it open, before jamming as much as I can of the food contents I find into an empty pack. Then I make a break for it. I sprint away from the Cornucopia, my arms full of weapons, and into the trees, not once looking back.

**Spencer Lux, 16, D11**

I run until I find myself on the edge of a small cliff with a good metre and a half distance between a second one directly across from it. That's when I finally let myself rest. I lean against a large boulder and check the small pack I managed to grab. I'm left feeling a little disappointed. All I find inside is an empty water bottle, three matches and strangely enough, a small jar of what appears to be semi dried tomatoes lathered in oil. It's a ludicrous food item to have; it'll barely sustain me past the next day or so. I unscrew the lid of the jar and hold it up to the sky, hoping a camera will see. "It's nice to know you guys are ssstill feeding us the good sss-stuff in here."

I pop one of them into my mouth and look over at the gap between the two bluffs, feeling woozy as I watch the fog swirl around and around, dancing up the length of the sides before crashing back down amongst itself. There is one brief second where a dark shadow appears just below the surface of the mass, making me jump backwards in fright, but it's gone almost as soon as it appeared. Most of me thinks that it was just my shadow, a trick of the light, but there is another part of me that is sure it was something else, something much more sinister. Either way, I've got to get away from here, and the only way is across the gap.

I zip the pack up and back up as far as I can. The gap doesn't seem like it'd be that hard to jump, but I don't want to take any chances.

I take a deep breath, and I run for it.

It last's no longer than a second, maybe two, but everything that goes on during my brief flight across to the other side feels stretched out. My feet pushing off from the edge, my hands flying around everywhere, followed by an agonizing pain as something rips through the side of my shoe and tears into my flesh. Then I'm crashing onto the ground on the other side, my mouth full of grit and grime.

I made it.

I crawl away from the edge and pull myself up behind a tree, watching the gap and waiting for whatever it was that attacked me mid-flight to come out and finish what it started. Nothing comes though, the fog just continues its swirling dance along the rock faces, a blanket of white hiding the world underneath. With the gap still kept well within my peripherals, I assess the damage done to my foot.

It's a clean cut through the leather sides of my shoe, which managed to sever part of my shoelaces. The actual wound itself isn't so bad. It's an identical gash in appearance, but not deep enough to cause me any real damage, probably only some minor discomfort.

I glance back over at the swirling mass of fog and once again the dark shadow appears, before disappearing completely, just like before. I don't know what it is, but what I do know now is that it's more than a shadow. Shadows don't try to cut your feet off. There is no way in hell I'm spending another second near this thing. I doubt I'll fair too well in round two, so I knot the broken pieces of my shoelaces together and hightail it out of there.

**Jane Rooke, 18, D5**

'Take the road less traveled . That's what I've done. While most of the other tributes ran for the sparser areas of the woods, I decided to go through the parts where the shrubbery was thickest where I, and anyone who followed me would have to duck, weave, and in some places crawl to make any progress. It's definitely not the easy route to take; after an hour of crawling and squeezing through bushes and tree trunks the parts of my body that aren't protected by my clothes are covered in stinging scratches. That's all worth it though when I hear the sound of running water.

I move faster, pushing through the brush to the point where I don't even care if I leave an obvious trail, coming out into a small clearing with a perfectly pristine stream flowing right through the middle. On the other side of it is a mammoth sized tree, gnarled roots pushing up through the dirt, with its middle open in a wide hollow. I can't help but feel blessed to have found a place so perfect. I've got running water and shelter. All I need now is for Grant to arrive, and we'll have the trifecta, food being number three. Unless he went for weapons as well, then we'll be even better off.

It's then that I begin to worry about him. I'd made sure he saw what direction I'd gone, and had been careful to make my route through the shrubbery obvious to someone who was looking for it, but now I realize he might not even be able to come find me. He could be dead, he could be one of the six who've already fallen. The thought of him lying glassy eyed and still in that death trap of a field is enough to make me shiver.

I pull my diary out of my pocket and hug it tightly to my chest. Even if Grant is gone, I won't be alone. I've still got the diary, and with it I can write to him, as well as Jason. As long as I've got my words, I'll never truly be alone. All I've got to do now is find something to write them down with.

**Lewis Natbotch, 15, D5**

I ran for the cliff after the bloodbath. Not by choice, but because it was the closest escape route I could find. If I'd headed for the trees like everyone else I'd have gotten slaughtered. I almost was by that boy from 3. Even now I can feel the painful throbbing of the gash he made across my back, and it takes all my inner strength not to burst into wailing sobs.

_You've had worse done to you before Lewis. You've had much worse, _I think to myself, trying to compare this pain to the kinds inflicted on me by the bullies back home. Even though it's not true, that the worst they've ever done to me was hold my head in a toilet bowl or give me a black eye, it's still somehow soothing.

I push myself back into the rock formation I've decided to shelter behind, trying to fold my feet inside the crevice as well. It's a tight squeeze, but I manage it, despite the pain it causes my back.

When I was younger and in pain my grandmother used to tell me to sleep it off, that sleep was the best painkiller of all. Sometimes that wasn't exactly true, and there was no way in hell I could have fallen asleep, but right now it seems like a real option.

I'm not even two hours into the games and already I've exhausted myself to the point of sleep.

**Demeter Ross, 17, D9**

Rye doesn't make it back to us until the sky is bathed in brilliant twinkling stars. Back home in 9, where we weren't heavily populated you could almost always see the stars at night, free from the pollution of light, and it makes me feel terribly homesick. It's a welcome distraction when Rye comes bounding through the trees, completely out of breath and drops a pile of weapons in front of us.

"You sure are hard to find. I've been running around these woods like a loon for hours." She puffs, her body doubled over. "How I didn't bump into any other tributes is beyond me."

"Well it's a good thing you bumped into us first then isn't it?" I say, forcing a smile onto my face. She smiles back at me, before she looks from me to Herc, a look of confusion stretched across her features.

"Where's Cyra?"

Hercules goes rigid at the mention of her name, and I sigh, getting ready to deliver the bad news. I don't have to though; Rye works it out for herself. "Six blasts…only five dead at the Cornucopia….Oh my god….She's gone isn't she?"

We both nod, unable to look up for fear of bursting into tears. Rye swears under her breath and sits down, her hands pressed against her forehead. For the longest while she doesn't say anything, and all three of us wait in silence. Then almost on queue, the anthem starts playing.

The first face that flashes up is of the girl from 8, followed by the girl from 10 and the boys from 7 and 12. When the girl from 3's face appears both Hercules and gasp. We know how desperately the boy from 3 wanted to keep her alive. He'd said so in his interview. I can only imagine the pain he's going through right now. It must be horrendous.

Last but not least Cyra's face flashes on screen, her red hair hanging limp alongside her jawbone, her wide hazel eyes full of life even in a snapshot picture. It's hard to think that face up there belongs to the lifeless body we watched the hovercraft carry away hours ago. It seems impossible.

The anthem comes to an end, and then once again the three of us are bathed in darkness, with only the twinkling stars up above offering any light. Herc clears his throat. "I'll take first watch. You two sleep, ok?"

We both mumble replies, and I make a careful effort to slip in a thank you. After a day like today I could use an escape like sleep. Hopefully the nightmares that are sure to come won't be too heavy. The chances of that happening seem pretty slim.

* * *

**I'm incredibly late with this chapter, and I'm terribly sorry! holidays and work have just gotten in the way of things. I'll try to get the next chapter up as soon as I can! :)**


	23. Weakness

**Gray Atrium, 16, D10**

My eyes are dry and my bones are aching from tiredness, but it was a risk I had to take. No way in hell was I falling asleep with that little creeper keeping watch. There's just something about her that I don't trust, something about her that makes the hairs on the back of my neck bristle. So when she put her hand up for watch, I very quickly shot her down, told her she could maybe do the next shift.

The fact that she's still pretending to be asleep hours after the decision was made is not making me like her any more.

I can tell she thinks she's being really smart and that she's got me fooled, but her breathing is too laboured, that heavy kind of breathing a child makes when it's trying to trick its parents. Every now and then I can see the corners of her mouth twitch up into a tiny smirk, and it makes my blood curdle. I bet you she's just sitting there, waiting for me to nod off, just so she can feign waking up from a nightmare and take over. Or more likely bash my brains in.

No way in hell am I going to let that happen.

I reach over to where Russell is curled up and shove him hard on the shoulder. By reflex he gasps in shock, holding his hands over his face, but then he realizes it's only me and sighs. "We in trouble Gray?"

I shake my head at him and yawn. "Nah, I'm just tired as hell. I was hoping you'd maybe like to take over watch for me? It can't be more than three hours till sun up anyway."

He looks over at Katie, whose body is noticeably more rigid, and then back at me, worry in his eyes. "I think Katie wanted to be next on watch."

"I know I know, but she's so young Russell, and she needs our protection." I lie, her massive score of 11 flashing through my head as I say it. "I think it'd be much safer if you did the watching. You're older and I think she'd really appreciate the sleep in."

For a second I don't think he's going to give in, but then he smiles at me and pushes his back up against a tree. "I reckon you're right. I'll keep watch."

"I nod my thanks and curl up on the ground, and I can't help but feel pleased when I spy the almighty scowl stretching right across little Katie's face.

**Grant Green, 13, D4**

The sunlight somehow manages to filter its way through the shrubs where I took refuge for the night, forcing me to wake up. I wince, try to stretch, only to feel pain shoot across my neck. It seems my fight with Luke has left me with more than a few bruises and a nose that's surely broken. I get to deal with tender muscles as well.

_Its just strained muscles_ I think to myself as I stand up, trying not to wince as the branches surrounding me scratch across my could have been a lot worse. I could have been the one who's canon sounded instead of Luke's. He's probably lying on some slab in the Capitol, getting ready to be shipped back home in one of those pine boxes that was probably put together by someone in his District. I'm still here though, so I've got to quit complaining. I've got to try and be positive.

That's a hard thing to do though when the person you're looking for is so damn hard to find.

When the sun started to set and I still hadn't found Jane I started to get worried. I found myself moving faster, frantically following the snapped twigs and scuffed up patches of soil that only someone who was looking for someone as though their whole life depended on it could find. When the anthem had started playing I'd searched the faces feverishly, hardly daring to breathe the whole way through just in case her face shone up among the six. When the sky went dark without her face appearing I finally let go of the breath, and then I started to cry. Not so much in relief that she was safe, but more because that now I knew she was still alive I could deal with my own issues for a moment or too.

I must have had a lot to process, because I think I might have cried myself to sleep. I can't really be sure. All I know is I was exhausted and everything hit me at once.

I push through the aches and pains for about an hour before I hear a sound in the near distance. It's faint, and barely discernible among chittering insects and gnats, but it's still unmistakable; I can hear running water. Almost instantly I become aware of just how parched my throat is, and without a second thought I go crashing through the bushes toward the sound, ignoring the ache in my neck and back.

The sound of the water gets louder and louder, until I'm no longer in the bushland surrounding and in a clearing, the foliage around it so dense you can hardly see a foot into it. I become aware that my face is stinging hot from the twigs and branches I heedlessly pushed myself through on my way in, but I don't care about that at all once I see the stream running through the centre. A cry, somewhat like the kind of noise a dog makes when it's overjoyed, escapes my throat, and I run so fast towards the water that I trip at the edge, face planting into what's actually a pretty deep pool of water. I couldn't care less about that though. The water is soothing the sting of the scratches, and the shock of the cold has taken priority over the pain pulsing through my neck.

I push back up to the surface, swallow a few gulps of water, and then look around the clearing. There's a huge tree across from me, all gnarled and hunched around itself with a perfect hollow in the centre. It takes me a few seconds to realize that the hollow isn't empty. A girl is curled up inside it, her hands covered in mud, a little red journal pressed against her chest, ending what must have been laughter with a great big grin.

"I was wondering when you were gonna find me Grant." Jane says, waving at me.

For the second time in less than five minutes I make a noise that's more befitting of a pup than a thirteen year old boy.

**Brynn Halee, 17, D4**

"Hey Brynny bear, rise and shine." Brock chortles in my ear, his voice all nasal in an attempt to sound like an annoying old lady. I groan and roll away from him but he just rolls me back towards him, his hand wrapping tightly around my arm. "Nup nope nu-uh. We're in the Games now. Ain't no time for sleeping in." he says and before I even have time to yawn a reply he yanks me up, taking me by so much surprise that I can't help but yelp.

"What the hell Brock!" I hiss, just as the familiar dizziness that I haven't been able to shake since the games began makes me stumble sideways. I reach out to steady myself against a crate and swear under my breath. Brock cocks his head to the side, his expression loaded with curiosity. "You all right?"

"I'm fine, my legs are just still asleep." I say, but I can tell from the look on his face that he doesn't believe my excuse. This environment feels all wrong, it's like the ground is tilting to and fro instead of remaining still, making it hard for my body to maintain a proper balance. I shake the thought away and peer around him, looking for the others.

"You slept through Jarred's hissy fit, you lucky thing." Brock tells me as my eyes fall on Jarred, who is stuffing supplies into a pack so fast it's almost comical. Rose and Aria are doing the same, but less furiously.

"What happened?" I ask. Brock twists around and points to an empty space on the wall.

"Jarred reckons the girl from 11 robbed us while we left for the hovercrafts yesterday. He says there were weapons on that wall before then and now they're gone."

"Didn't the girl from 11 die though?" I ask, confusion washing over me. I'd seen her body lying beside the boy from 12, just as drenched in blood as he had been. She'd looked about as dead as you could get.

"Did you watch the fallen last night?" Brock grins at me.

"You know I did, I was sitting with you and Aria."

"And did you see the girl from 11's face shining down on us from the heavens above?"

"Well no.."

"Then what do you know, she's still alive. Not for much longer though."

"Why's that?" I say, feeling my gut sink. The image of Luke's blood soaked face, or what was left of it flashes across my mind, making bile rise up my throat. I watched death work its magic on six lives yesterday, I'm not sure I'm ready to face all that again.

Brock hoists a pack across his shoulders and confirms my fears. "We're gonna go find her, that's why." He leans down and picks up another pack, before handing it to me. "Here, this is yours. The girls made me pack it for you."

I clutch it close and mumble a thank you, but he doesn't hear it, he's already turned himself around and is making his way back to the other girls. I swallow hard, trying to ignore the dreadful dizziness, and then follow after him, shaky legs and all.

**Hercules Strong, 18 D9**

During the night I set a few easy snares up, and now that the girls have woken up I decide to go and check them out. Rye was a bit puzzled as to why I'd even bothered with snares, seeing as she'd looted a bounty of food from the Cornucopia, but I just think it's safer to save that food for when we really need it. Maybe if we were a group of inept fourteen year olds with no previous hunting experience I'd have just settled for the packaged goods, but we aren't. Rye and I have both had to survive on a stipend for some time, and I'm not stupid enough to waste supplies that won't go off in half a days' time.

The first snare hasn't even gone off, but in the second one I find a fat round guinea pig looking thing, it's body still warm but all other signs of life extinguished. I prep the animal there and then, discarding its skin and entrails before carrying the carcass back to camp.

"Damn it demi-god, you came through!" Rye laughs, nudging the coals from last night's fire with her boots to check if they're still hot. "Feeling like charcoaled rodent for breakfast Demeter?"

"I'd rather a Capitol feast but I guess that'll have to do." She yawns, scooting over towards the coals. I pass the rodent to Rye and she starts getting it ready for cooking, fussing over it in a way that's both grotesque and sort of amusing.

As the meat begins to char I glance over at Demeter and she nods. I clear my throat to get Rye's attention.

"Didn't anyone tell you it's more socially acceptable to start a conversation with actual words?" she chimes, turning the meat over with a stick as she does so.

"My upbringing wasn't exactly the kind that instilled social values." I mumble, and she laughs.

"Mine neither. Now what is it you two want to ask?"

This time Demeter speaks, her voice calm as anything. "We were wondering what the rest of the plan was Rye. We were wondering what we're doing now?"

"Oh I've got absolutely no idea." Rye replies, not looking up from the meat.

"What do you mean you've got no idea?" I say, trying hard to keep a ball of rage that's building in my chest from erupting right here and now. "You've got to have some idea!"

"Well I didn't have any idea what we were going to do five minutes ago, but I might have an idea now."

"It better be good." Demeter scowls.

Rye looks at her and rolls her eyes. "Or what Demeter, you'll cut me?" She says, with so much conviction and veiled malice that Demeter just shrinks back. "I thought as much." Rye gloats, before turning back to me. "I had a plan where we find some far off corner of the arena and build ourselves a little base camp slash fort kind of thing, but Cyra was a very integral part to that plan, and as you both know she went and died didn't she? So that throws a spanner in the works."

"A base camp? That's a horrible idea.." Demeter starts, but I cut her off.

"Talk me through what you were thinking."

Rye grins and carries on. "It'd have to be somewhere either on the fringe of the Arena or on a ledge that can only be accessed from one direction. Cyra told me she'd had this fort back home made from pine needles, with heavy branches and logs serving as a kind of base, which got me thinking about all those war stills you see of people hiding behind little hidey holey thingys. I figured you'd be good at keeping the perimeter in check with a few damn good snares rigged into traps Herc, and Demeter would be a good person to just have around in general."

"Staying in one spot would just get us killed." Demeter scoffs.

"The Careers traditionally stay in one spot." Rye interjects.

"We're not Careers. We haven't got the luxury of a life-long training regime to fall back on if shit goes haywire."

"I think we should give it a shot." I say. Demeter looks at me like I've gone mental and I just shrug. "It's not like we're a group of weaklings. We might not have the skills the Careers have, but at the very least we aren't weaponless."

"I don't know Herc.." Demeter breathes, looking down at the ground. I place a hand on her shoulder and squeeze it gently.

"We can either run like prey or we can stand our ground. We're probably going to wind up dead anyway, we might as well try something new."

She doesn't say anything at first and I can see the war raging behind her eyes, the one that's screaming that this is a terrible idea, versus the one that I know trusts me, despite how very irritating I know I've seemed at times. Then she sighs, throwing her hands up above her head. "Fine, I guess it's the only plan we've got. But I swear, if this leads directly to my death, I'm going to haunt both of you so bad."

**Modest Kline, 14, D12**

When I woke Flinch was already awake, sitting with his legs hugged tight under his chin on the edge of the cliff we'd stopped at the day before. Not knowing what to say to him I'd let him be.

First I decided to have a look through my pack, which only left me feeling depressed. Inside was an empty water bottle, a tiny package of thread with an equally tiny needle and a bag of about six pieces of dried fruit. I opened the packaging and ate a piece, before wandering a little way into the tree line to go to the toilet. Then I kind of just lounged around, listening to everything that was going on around me. Sometimes I heard birds calling, or crickets buzzing. Sometimes I thought I heard someone coming, but no one ever came.

Mostly I just heard him crying.

After about half an hour I make my way back to the ledge, and it's no big surprise that he hasn't moved an inch. I hoist my pack over my shoulder and tap him on his. "We need to get moving."

"What's the point." He mutters, "We might as well just wait here for them to come kill us already."

"Don't talk like that." I spit at him, shoving him a little bit.

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to hear you talk like that." And then I add, even though it's really not my place, "Maybe because she wouldn't want you to just sit around and wait for death either."

He doesn't say anything at first, he just sits there rigid as ever. Then he gets up, brushes the dust off his pants and turns around to face me, his face still blotchy and red from all the crying he's been doing. "You're right. She'd kill me for acting like this, but what do we do now?"

He looks like he's in so much pain, and I recall how last night he told me what Jarred had done to Allius, and the nightmare I'd then had about poor sweet Cole. Poor Sweet Cole lying skewered on the ground. Fire builds up from the pit of my stomach and rises into my chest. "I'll tell you what we're gonna do. We are going to get ourselves familiarized with this place, and then we are going to hunt that bastard down."

**Rose Stroud, 17, D2**

We walk for what feels like an eternity and a half, Jarred in the lead, slamming through the bushes at a speed that's becoming increasingly hard to keep up with. Brock and Aria are doing fine, but Brynn and I are lagging behind, despite the fact that we're running. Not jogging, which in itself would be hard work through wild terrain like this, but full pelt running. I can't help but feel relieved when we finally run out of ground and are faced with a crevice about as wide as I am tall. That mightn't seem like much, but when you're god only knows how high above ground level, it seems a million times further.

"Right then, we've gotta cross." Jarred orders, his breath not even slightly affected by the mad run.

"Shouldn't we wait for a bit; maybe try and get our bearings?" Aria asks, glancing briefly at Brynn, who's doubled over and wheezing.

Jarred's eyes set hard like stone. "I know where we are. We cross now," and before anyone has any time to object he's already backing up, sprinting forward and launching himself across the gap.

Brock quickly follows, then Aria and before I know it's my turn. I look at the swirling mass of fog nibbling at the edge of the other side and I hate that I can't see how high I really am. I start to feel dizzy just from watching it, and I shake my head, psyching myself up. _My father lived through his games without any supplies. My mother killed one of her closest friends to get herself back home. This is a cinch in comparison. I can do this._

I back up against a tree branch, take a deep breath and then I run. I feel the dirt around the edge crumble down into the fog as I lift off, and in the briefest of seconds that I'm in the air all I can hear is my blood pulsing through my whole body. Then my feet touch the ground, and despite a minor stumble I somehow manage to stay up right. I did it. I got across the stupid gap.

Brock slaps me hard on the back and grins. "Well done Legacy! You made it." He then looks back over the gap and calls out. "Alright Brynny bear, your turn."

I look over too, and as I do both our smiles fade away. Brynn is standing up against the tree, her skin as pale as a ghost, shaking her head furiously. Her mouth is also moving frantically, producing just one syllable, one single, silent word, over and over again.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no."

"Brynn come on it's not that hard." Aria calls out, and I detect a sort of urgency in her voice, like she's afraid for her. "You can do it easy, just come on."

Brynn's face crumples up and she bursts into tears. "I can't. I can't. I want to but I just can't."

Jarred pushes past us, towards her, his features etched with fury. "Get over here now Brynn. We don't have time for this. We don't have room for any weakness."

She just shakes her head, biting her lip hard to try and hold in the tears. "I can't. it's too high. I'm scared!"

"Brynn come on!" Aria shouts, and at the same time Jarred is screaming at Brynn to just make the jump and she can't do it, she's just too afraid.

Aria starts screaming at her to cross, pleading with her, and she just keeps shaking her head, twisting her arms back behind her to wrap tight around the tree, and then I find myself watching Jarred, seeing him pull one of the small spears from his belt, and before anyone properly registers what's happening, even though Aria had anticipated it, even though she reaches over to try and stop him, she's too late. He pitches it across the gap and into Brynn's stomach, pinning her to the tree.

She lets out one pitiful scream, but it's more like a yelp, and then she slumps around it, her fingertips just inches from the ground, swaying to and fro in a way that's vaguely hypnotising.

Then the enormity of what's just happened hits me, and I'm screaming too.

**Lewis Natbotch, 15, D5**

The boom of the canon ricochets through the air above me, making my heart lurch sideways. It sounds so close, so terribly close. I rack my brain trying to find any references regarding whether the canon sounds the same everywhere in the arena or if its louder close to the tribute that died, but I can't find anything and that just makes me panic. Someone else has just died, maybe right near me. Maybe whoever it is that killed them is coming this way.

I think about those brutish boys in the Career pack and it's enough. Even with the pain tearing across my back, I push myself out of my hidey hole and make a break for it into the woods.

I only hope I'm running in the opposite direction to whoever it was that just killed someone.

**Airick Marloth, 15, D8**

I'm sitting on a log when I hear the twig snap. It's a loud kind of snap, the kind an animal would never be stupid enough to make. It's clumsy, and heavy footed. Definitely human.

As I turn myself around in the direction of the noise, a boy comes tearing out of the bushes and before I even have time to utter a simple "what the?" He's punched me hard in the face, knocking me off my log and sending my vision spinning with the stars. As I fall he lands hard on top of me, and then he punches me again, but it's not nearly as well aimed and it mostly just brushes past my jaw and cracks into the ground. In the time that he recoils, I wriggle a leg free and knee him as hard as I can in his groin. He screams and rolls away from me, curling around himself.

I stand myself up and loom over him, finally recognizing him as the boy from 11, Spencer Lux, the kid with the stutter. It doesn't take me long to realize that he, like me, doesn't have any weapons, otherwise he would have used them on me first instead of smashing my nose to pieces.

I curl my hands up into fists, getting ready to lay into him, but the thought of it is repulsive. I know I'm in the games and that this is what I'm expected to do, but I just don't think I have it in me to beat a guy's face in until it's a blood soaked pulp. Judging from the way he hasn't tried to hit me again, I'm thinking he's thinking the same thing too.

Or maybe he's just really hurt, but I might as well take a chance.

"I don't want to kill you." I say, holding my hands up in the air.

"I don't thhh-ink I c-can kill you either." He gasps, and I can't help but laugh. The kid read me like a freaking book.

"Raincheck it?" I reply, and he laughs, and I can't help but feel kind of glad that I might have just found someone to go through all this with me, even if they just broke my nose and I might have just ruined any chances of them procreating in the future.

It's just nice to not feel so alone anymore.

* * *

Tributes Killed this Chapter

18- Brynn Halee, Aged Seventeen, District 4.

* * *

**As always, my apologies for the lateness of this. I'm terribly bad at finding time, but I promise I'll never give up on this little story. I'm 100% going to get right through to the end :)**


	24. Godless

**Brock Emerald, 18, D1**

As much as Jarred would hate to admit it, Brynn's death has left us all feeling completely out of it. Rose has been sobbing silently at the back of the line for quite a while, and Aria has had her head down the whole time, refusing to say a word to anyone. Perhaps the biggest surprise is how Jarred has coped. About half an hour afterwards he called a rest break, disappearing into the woods. When he didn't come back for a while I made an excuse to go follow him, and that's when I found him leaning over a ditch, wiping the vomit away from his mouth. When he realized I was there he made up some excuse about the high altitude making him feel all queasy.

I'm not all that sure that's the truth.

When we walk past a certain boulder I'm sure I've seen nine times in the last hour I finally decide to speak up. "Guys, we're walking around in circles."

"I know that." Jarred barks. "We're searching this section for tributes."

"Well I think we've covered it pretty extensively don't you?" I say, ignoring his tone of voice. "It's getting dark; we might as well head back for the night."

"I don't want to go back." Rose stammers, her eyes darting around furiously, panic mode immediately starting to set in.

Aria nudges her in the arm, a sure fire signal to get a grip. "There isn't anything back there anymore Rose." She says and then she adds in a whisper, low enough for the both of us to hear but not Jarred, "They would have taken the body away hours ago."

Rose immediately relaxes, but I can see even just mentioning the word body is enough to make her lip tremble. "Ok, let's go back."

"We're losing valuable hunting time if we go back before nightfall." Jarred interjects, but I can see he's not going to put up much more of a fight. Even though he was somewhat right in getting rid of the weak link, it's made him seem less trustworthy to the group. It's not worth arguing with us over something as trivial as this, so he's just going to let it go.

"We can make up the time lost tomorrow night. Let's just get some sleep." Aria drawls, and he doesn't push the matter any further. He just nods his head and turns back around the way we came, his way of letting us know we've won this battle, but he's still taking the lead.

We follow his lead, and for almost ten minutes it's dead silent, just like it was before. Even quieter actually, seeing as Rose isn't crying any more. It's nice really. About the nicest thing I've experienced since before reaping day.

The serenity shatters a lot faster than I would have thought it would. As I'm daydreaming about my little sister and Topaz back home, a quiet yelp erupts from the bushes ahead of me, the bushes Jarred had only just stepped through. We all automatically freeze, waiting for something to happen, and something does. Jarred reappears from the bushes, his face more sombre than stone cold, and in his arms, squirming desperately, is another tribute.

**Lewis Natbotch, 15, D5**

The boy from 2 has his hand pressed so hard against my mouth that I can feel my lips starting to bruise, and he's got part of my nostrils covered so I can hardly even breathe. I wriggle against him desperately, clawing my hands across his arm, trying to kick my legs hard into his shins, but it's no use; none of it seems to affect him in the slightest, which makes me even more frightened. My body is coursing with so much fear that it's almost just as suffocating as the hand he's slapped across my face.

"No way." The girl from 1 mutters, shaking her head from side to side slowly. "Not again."

"Oh yes again." The brute who's holding me says, and with that he throws me onto the ground so hard I'm left a little shell shocked for a few seconds. Dirt flies up my noise, making me cough and splutter, and what doesn't enter my nostrils fills my mouth and yet again I'm left to literally eat dirt. The boy puts his foot on my back and presses me down hard, so I can't get back up. "This one is on you guys. Take your pick who gets to finish him off."

"What?" Rose Stroud, the victor's daughter, shrieks, her voice full of a mix of horror and absolute fury. "You've got to be kidding!"

"I've already made my kill for the day. Can't take all the glory now can I?" He replies, but there's something in his voice that wavers, just a little bit, something that betrays the pride he's trying to push across.

_He doesn't want to kill me._ I realize, and for a second I feel a pang of hope, but it's extinguished the minute I remember that even if he doesn't want to kill me, someone else here has to. Someone else here will.

That's when I finally let go, even though I don't want to, even though I know how pathetic it will look to everyone back home. I can't help it, I start to cry.

"Fine then, I'll do it." The other boy scowls, and the weight of the brutes foot comes off my back, releasing the awful pressure and allowing me to breathe properly. I've only managed to take one or two good breaths before a hand grabs a fist full of the fabric on my parka and I'm lifted into the air, while another hand grabs hold of my shoulder and slams me against a tree.

"Give me some space will you?" The boy shouts, and through my tears I can see the others stepping back, even the terrible brute. The boy looks me square in the eye. "What's your name again kid?"

"L-Lewis."

"Lewis, I'm Brock. I figure if I'm going to kill you, you deserve to at the very least know my name."

"Please don't." I sob. "Please don't" but he just shakes his head.

"Sorry little buddy."

I see a glint of silver from the corner of my eye, and then something sharp and cruel slices across my throat, and it feels like fire and drowning all at once.

Then quite suddenly it feels like nothing at all.

**Jane Rooke, 18, D5**

The second canon to sound for the day booms just before sunset. It interrupts my attempt to do today's writing, but that's not so much of a loss. Mud isn't exactly the best substitute for ink. A few birds are startled by the sound and they take off into the sky, screeching, flying every which way because who knows what direction the sound actually came from.

Beside me Grant shivers, and he pulls the hood of his parka tight around his face. I shut the diary and slide it onto the ground beside us and wait for him to talk. I know he wants to.

"That's two canons already. Two more gone."

"I know," I whisper, as though I'm trying to be courteous and respectful of the dead. How ridiculous, honestly. There's no real use for respect in a place like this.

"Do you think it's safe for us to stay here?" he asks. I think about it for a second, and then I shake my head.

"No, probably not in the long run."

He grimaces at that, and it's then that I see how frightened he really is. Since he found me this morning he's been trying to put on a brave face, trying to impress me as always. Right now though he looks vulnerable, and in a way, it's sort of adorable. If only he was just a few years older.

"Move on tomorrow?" I say, leaning over and giving his hand a quick squeeze. He jumps a little, having not expected it, but then he relaxes, and squeezes back.

"Sounds like a plan."

**Aria Mallow, 18, D1**

No one talks about the dead boy on the way back to the Cornucopia. No one stops, not even Rose, when we jump across the gap and pass the tree Brynn had died against, even though we can all still see the way her blood left a darker stain on bark. Usually Career packs seem to go wild after a few kills, hooting and hollering like a pack of psychos. I guess we're not quite there yet.

How boring we must seem to the Capitol in comparison.

As the trees start to thin and the Cornucopia comes into sight we all stop walking and stare. The whole clearing is covered in debris, torn up sheets, broken crates, bits and pieces of things lying everywhere. Our supplies have been completely destroyed. And from the ferocity of it all I'm guessing not by humans. None of the kids I've seen here could tear a metal crate in two, that's for sure.

"You've got to be kidding me." Brock grimaces, running ahead of us. When he gets to the middle, where the very worst of the destruction seems to have taken place, he loses it completely. He starts swearing at the top of his voice, and kicking things, throwing things, before he literally just drops onto his knees and starts pounding his fists against the ground.

While Rose starts rambling and Jarred stalks off to assess the damage himself, I make my way over to Brock. By the time I get to him his knuckles are already starting to bleed, and I have to wrap my arms around his back and pull him away. He's a heavy boy, but he doesn't struggle. He just gives in.

"We can't hunt." He mutters. "We can't hunt nothing but other people. How are we supposed to eat?" How are we supposed to eat Aria?"

"Don't say we can't hunt. Surely it's not that hard." I say, but I'm not sounding all that convincing. I watched Rose's father's game in strategy class. I watched how the Career pack fell apart within days, as they struggled to survive without any supplies. By the time it came to the finale he and his opponent were so emaciated it was beyond inhumane.

"This is such a shit day." He mumbles, looking up at me with sad eyes. "Strike that, this is the worst day. No strike that again, this is the worst week. Whoever decided this was a quality life choice was wrong."

"Careful what you say Brock." I whisper, and he laughs. A weak, sort of defeated laugh, but a laugh nonetheless.

"It doesn't matter, it's just you and me Sallow Mallow, and I know you won't tell."

"You know that's not true."

"That you won't tell? Yeah I do know you won't tell, you don't have any friends to tell things to."

I punch him in the arm and roll my eyes, even though it's probably too dark now for him to see. "Ha ha. I meant the other part. It's not just you and me."

_It's you me and the rest of Panem._

He catches on to what I'm saying, because he doesn't say anything else. He just sort of nods his head, and then stares into nothing.

Trying to be somewhat comforting, I lean my head against his shoulder, and as I do his backpack rustles. Something in my mind clicks over. _Our packs._

"We've still got food in our packs." I say, pulling the zip on his pack open and rummaging through it. Sure enough, there are two packs of dehydrated meat, and an apple.

The relief that washes over Brock's face is indescribable. "If I was a god fearing boy I would be praising him so much right now."

"Not a believer?" I ask, more in fun than anything else.

"nope."

"Why's that?"

"If he was real, he wouldn't.." He starts, but he stops mid-sentence, covering his tracks. "He wouldn't let someone as nasty as Jarred boss us around like he does."

I know what he really meant though, what he wanted to say. If he were real, he wouldn't let any of _this _happen.

**Rye Goldsmith, 16, D11**

After our little talk, we just walked in a dead straight line for the rest of the day, aiming to try and reach the furthest point this arena has to offer. I've got a feeling that we must be pretty close, because I can't imagine there could be that much ground left to cover. We walked, crawled and climbed for hours.

More than once Herc thought he'd found a good place to set up base, but I haven't felt satisfied enough with any of them. I can see their flaws plain as day, and I don't have time for any flaws. Flaws out here mean death, and I'm not quite ready to have my dance with the grim reaper yet.

"You know what you guys?" I say as we trudge along in the darkness.

"What?"

"If you guys were really gods, you'd be like, Aunty and nephew, and I'm pretty sure Demeter also slept with your dad at some point Herc, who also happens to be her brother, which is kind of a little bit wrong don't you think?"

"Where is this going?" Demeter asks, the tiniest trace of annoyance audible in her voice."

"Oh nowhere I just love Greek mythology."

"Demeter slept with her brother? That's classic." Hercules scoffs.

"Don't you laugh, I'm pretty sure you married one of your sisters too at some point."

"Well this is definitely a history lesson I could have done without." Demeter comments, dropping her pack down on the ground. "All these skeletons in my namesake's coffin are making me tired. Shall we turn in for the night?"

"Oh yes let's." I reply, sinking down on the ground and immediately opening my pack. I pull an apple out and raise it towards the sky. "Thanks Cyra." I say, before taking a bite of it.

"You reckon we'll find a spot by tomorrow? I don't know how many more ledges I can scale and crevices I can squeeze through." Hercules asks, taking a huge mouthful of some weird looking bread roll he pulled from his pack.

I nod. "Oh for sure. I've got a feeling our base camp is right around the corner."

"Good," Demeter says, curling up under a tree with her head resting on her pack. "I live in a place that requires a lot of walking, but this terrain is even pushing me to my limits."

**Spencer Lux, 16, D11**

Airick and I sit a few paces apart from each other, both of us chewing begrudgingly on some root he identified as edible. Even though he said he wasn't going to kill me, I'm not quite sure I trust him yet, which is going to be uncomfortable when I go to sleep. He's got first shift.

The anthem starts playing, and both of us immediately look up through the trees. The first face that flashes up is the girl from 4, which is a massive shock. After seeing firsthand how well the Careers performed in the bloodbath, Brynn included, it's a surprising to see one of them go this early on. For a second I find myself worrying about poor sweet Rose, but I push that thought out of my head. I'm fighting for my life in this arena, I don't have time to be sitting around worrying about a girl. Or thinking about a girl for that matter.

The second, and last face to light up for the night is Lewis's, the boy from 5. It's not a real surprise, but I still feel awful for him. It's too early on for him to have died from any natural courses, so unless he slipped and fell off the side the mountain he was probably killed by someone else, unless he was killed by some kind of mutt. I haven't seen any yet though.

_Yet._

As the music comes to a close Airick groans and rests his head against his fists. "Is it just me, or does this place make you feel off balance twenty four seven?"

"It's not just you." I reply, glad I'm not the only one. I was starting to think I was going mad. Or dying. That wouldn't have surprised me.

"It's like vertigo, you know. I don't know how they're inducing it. You know it's usually just a symptom of something else right?"

"Yeah of course." I reply, even though I have no idea what he's talking about. I don't want to sound dumb though.

"I never get it. Never. It's like there's something in the air."

"Maybe it comes rrrr-rolling in with that fog." I joke, but Airick looks at me like I've had an epiphany. Or he's had an epiphany, I'm really not sure which way that goes.

"Maybe you're on to something."

"Probably not." I reply, desperate for the conversation to end. Seeing those faces up in the sky has made me depressed. I just want to go to sleep and escape for a while. "You still ww-wanna take first wa-wa-watch?"

"Aren't you scared I'll try and kill you in your sleep?" He asks.

I shake my head. "Nah, you could have killed me already if yyy-ou wanted to. I tth-think I'll be right."

"Well then by all means, sleep away." He smiles. I nod my thanks and curl up beside a tree, before falling straight into a nightmare. The anthem plays over and over and all I can see is the boy from 5 and the girl from 4 drenched in blood coming towards me, and I can't get away, because on the other side is that patch of fog with the shadow in it. I'm trapped in the middle, death on either side, closing in around me.

Seems sleeping isn't much of an escape either.

**Katie Chandler, 12, D6**

After watching Gray keep watch last night, I worked out that about an hour in, he takes a short toilet break. With that in mind, I made sure we settled down for the night on one of the little cliffs, and then I put up no fight when Gray said he'd like to take first watch. That's what I wanted him to do.

When he gets up for his toilet break I wait a few seconds, until I know he's far enough away, and then quiet as I can, I get up and creep towards him. Just like I planned, he heads toward the cliff.

He's standing not that far from the edge when I catch up, in the process of doing his zipper back up. My hands are shaking with anticipation, and I have to clutch onto my knife tightly to try and still one of them.

I'm so close, three steps, two steps, one step, I raise the dagger, ready to strike.

_Adios, Gray Gray_

before I can cut the kid and throw him over the edge something else gets him first.

It comes up out of nowhere, breaking through the fog. It's darker than the sky, and twice as tall as I am, with wings probably just as wide. It looks like a bat, but there's more to it than that, it doesn't have fur. It's skin is slick and slimy looking, just like some kind of frogs, and all wrinkly around its face. Not wrinkly enough to hide the rows upon rows of razor sharp teeth though and there is no wrinkles hiding the deadly talons on the ends of its wings and the claws on its thin bird like feet.

I know what it is. I've seen it in the games before. It's a greaper. You do not mess with a greaper.

Gray yelps and tries to turn back, but it's already too late. The awful creature makes a high pitched squeeling nose and sinks its fangs deep into his shoulder, making him scream so loud it makes even my blood run cold. Realizing I'm there Gray goes to reach out, but I can't take his hand. Even if I wanted to I wouldn't. He's as good as dead now.

With his hand still out stretched towards me, even as I'm backing away, the creature kicks off the ground and lurches into the air, tearing part of Gray's shoulder off as it does so. For a second, just a second he stands on shaking legs, swaying backwards and forwards, screaming his head off, and then the Greaper comes back, snagging it's claws into his chest, before disappearing back down into the fog. I don't wait to hear the rest of Gray's screams. I'm too busy crying my eyes out in fear as run back to where I know Russ is probably still sleeping like a baby.

The Canon sounds, and all I can think of is that it didn't sound soon enough.

* * *

Tributes Killed this Chapter

17- Lewis Natbotch, aged fifteen, District 5

16- Gray Atrium, Aged Sixteen, District 10

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**I'm such a sporadic updater, it must drive you guys crazy ^.^**

**I know I didn't include a POV for our dynamic duo, Modest and Flinch, but never fear, I did not forget them! I just couldn't think of a good enough POV for them for this chapter, and I didn't want to give them a second rate one because well, I love them muchly and they deserve the best (just like I love all these guys ^.^) Never fear though, They'll have a POV in the next chapter, I promise! **

**It was quite sad saying goodbye to Lewis and Gray (precious Gray Gray) as well as Brynn last chapter, but I hope I did them justice (writing wise)**

**See you guys next chapter! :)**


	25. Hunger Pangs and Crocodile Tears

**I know I know, It's been over a month since I last updated and I apologize for that. I've had two family members die and its ****just been a tad hectic and sad in my house lately. With Assignments due and work on top of all that I had no time at all, so I hope you guys forgive me! **

* * *

**Russell Darcy, 14, D5**

Ever since Gray died a few days ago, Katie has been distant and twitchy, always glancing around as though she expects one of those monsters to drop out of thin air and tear her to pieces. She didn't say much about it, but all you have to do is name drop greapers and it's enough to send someone's stomach into somersault territory. They're some of the worst mutts the Capitol has ever sent into the games, and they've been the source of my nightmares more than a few times.

"You hungry?" I ask, offering her one of our apples. She tilts her head up and stares at me for the shortest second, before shaking her head and returning her attention to the stick she's been whittling away at.

"Suit yourself." I smile, taking a bite out of the apple. They aren't keeping as fresh as I'd like them to, and the flesh feels chalky and filmy, but its food nonetheless and that's enough for me. "How much more travelling do you want to do today?" I ask her, hoping to at least try and get some kind of conversation going.

This piques her interest. "Maybe another half mile, and then we could settle down for the night."

"Sounds good to me." I grin.

She looks over at me and smiles, but there's something else behind it, something I just can't place. "You take the lead alright?" She says.

"Sounds fine to me." I reply, writing the weird look off to just be nerves regarding the greapers. I know I'd be nervous if I'd seen them, that's for sure.

**Grant Green, 13, D4**

I've fallen head over heels in love with a girl five years my senior. At the most inopportune time as well, mind you.

It's that which I'm thinking about now as we trek through the shrubbery and away from our clearing, holding true to the decision we made days ago about not staying in one place for too long. She's walking ahead of me, both arms folded across her chest, the diary wedged fast between one palm and her parka. Even though it's ridiculous, I feel a pang of jealousy whenever I think of her diary and how it was a gift from her dead boyfriend. He's been dead for almost a year and she's still so dedicated to speaking with him through it. Right now she's got a wide gash on her right palm that she claims to have gotten by accident. I know better than that though. I know she's still been writing in that diary, even though there's nothing else she could use for ink around here. As grotesque as it is, I can't help but admire that amount of dedication. I know she'll probably never care about me like that, even if I care about her.

She knows how much that boy loved her. Maybe I ought to let her know how I feel too.

This is it. I've got to tell her. I clear my throat, take a big breath, and the words come out in a mish mash jumble, but they come out all the same.

"I think maybe I'm a little in love with you."

She stops dead in her tracks and turns around to face me. "Aren't I a little old for you?" She asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Unfortunately." I sigh.

She laughs, and it's both soft and shrill all at once, like a birds. She presses one of her hands against my cheek, setting my skin on fire, when seconds before it had been ice cold. "You're the sweetest thing."

"And you're the most beautiful." I stammer.

She blushes, for the first time taken by surprise, and when she looks at her feet and mumbles a "Thank you," I know she doesn't believe it, which is ridiculous.

"No I really mean it." I tell her, even though I can feel a nervous lump building up in my throat as I do. "Don't just brush it off like that. You're the most beautiful person I've ever met, and you need to know that. You need to know it's true."

What she does next leaves me the surprised one. She leans down, and ever so lightly brushes her lips against my forehead, and it's enough to turn my legs to jelly. "I'm too old for you Grant Green." She tells me when she pulls away, resting one hand on each of my shoulders to keep me steady. "But you make me wish I wasn't."

**Flinch Lightwood, 17, D3**

I've got to hand it to Modest, she's very good at keeping me distracted, or managing to keep me feeling upbeat even when Allius comes up in conversation. Of course I'm not going to be perfectly fine, but she doesn't mind me being a little upset here and there, so long as I'm not in the state I was the day following the bloodbath. For us to be a team, I need to be functional. I'm trying my best to stay that way.

"God I'm hungry." She wheezes, sitting down against a tree. We've been moving during the night and sleeping when we can during the day, and it's taking its toll on us. Add that to the fact that her dried fruit ration ran out pretty quickly, and I guess you could say we aren't doing too well at all. She was already thin to begin with, but now I can see the lines of her jaw poking through flesh where they should never been seen, and her collar bone is beginning to look more garish than feminine.

"If it's any consolation I think everyone's pretty hungry right now." I say, thinking about the state we found the Cornucopia in when we checked it late last night. The Careers were nowhere to be seen and the whole clearing looked like a bomb had gone off in it. When the girl from 4's face lit up in the sky later that night it furthered our suspicion that it was Gamemaker driven destruction rather than one of the boys throwing an almighty hissy fit. They were too strong to lose one of their own from any other tributes this early in the game after all. It had to be the Gamemakers

"Flinch can I ask you something?" Modest asks, breaking me out of my thoughts. "I know it's probably bad manners to ask about, but I'm too curious for my own good I guess."

My mind runs through a list of things she could be leaning towards, and before I can object she just blurts it out. "I was wondering how you got that scar on your face."

My hand automatically reaches up to touch it, resting on the puckered skin that stretches across the left side of my face. I can't help but admire the brashness of the question; most people tend to just act like the scar doesn't even exist.

"Ally, myself and a couple of friends used to work in this factory part time, you know, what with the price of living being so high and all." I smile; recollecting what for the most part had been happy memories. "There was this one piece of equipment that had a rope with a huge hook thing on the end they used to move other equipment around with. One day Allius was supposed to be securing it onto something and she slipped. The rope went flying through the air and the hook smacked me in the face, then hey presto, I got my scar."

Modest's face blanches. "I'm sorry, I had no idea.."

"It'd involve her? Don't worry about it. I don't mind. I mean it still hurts to think about her, but I'm not going to go all manic depressed on you again. I promise." I tell her, squeezing her hand in reassurance.

"It must be so hard, losing someone you care so much about like this. I lost my parents, but that was a whole different situation to yours. Yours just seems unfair."

"All death is unfair, one way or the other. We've just got to get used to that."

**Jarred Emery, 17, D2**

Career kids never really get taught how to ration their supplies. The chance of us losing everything is so slim no one has ever really been bothered with it. Right now we all could have used just one class to let us know how to deal on minimal food. Even though none of us want to admit it, we're all feeling the hunger pangs, and we're feeling them hard.

It turned out that the girls had packed most of our food supplies in Brynn's bag, and of course that disappeared along with her body and my spear days ago. Brock's pack had what Rose tells me were the 'emergency' rations. That's something of a joke now; we've got none left. Now it's just the four of us sitting by a ledge, twiddling our thumbs and wondering what to do next.

"We could eat each other." Brock jokes, resting his head atop his knees as he snickers. "What was that kid's name from three years ago? Titus? He did alright when he went that way. Well, until the whole 'buried alive in an avalanche' incident of course."

"Don't be disgusting." Rose mutters, eyeing him with what I've come to view as her trademark disdain. Of course it's not usually Brock who is on the receiving end of that look. Usually it only comes about when she's looking at me, right after I've done something she views as irreprehensible. I don't know how she can look at me that way considering our circumstances. It's not like we're in every day society any more. We're in the Hunger Games, and whether she likes it or not I'm going to continue making the right kind of decisions, the ones the others can't make. My aim here is to stay alive. I can deal with her disdain.

"Well we can't all have a well-bred victor's daughter sense of humor now can we?" Brock snaps back, and Aria shoves him hard, her way of telling him to shut it. It's amusing how quickly he responds to her push, settling back down, staring at his hands like an embarrassed child, and I can't help but smirk.

"What are you smirking about then?" Aria asks me, her eyes hard as stone and unblinking.

I shrug. "Nothing you should bother yourself with." Though in truth she really should. Even if neither of them has realized it, they've crossed the line between allies to friends, something which can only mean pain in these games. If their budding reliance on one another wasn't such an advantage for me I would let them know they're playing into dangerous territory. Of course I'm not going to do that though.

I'd much rather sit back and enjoy the show.

**Demeter Ross, 17, D9**

You know that saying adults go on about, the one where you'll find the thing you're looking for when you're not actually looking for it? Well today the three of us proved that theory right in what was perhaps the most frightening way something like that could happen. We were just plodding along, bickering about what our next meal would be when Hercules fell from a ledge we didn't even see coming. I screamed, he screamed, even Rye made some kind of weird animal noise. Then there was a loud thump, and Hercules was laughing. Not screaming or as I'd thought would be more likely, deathly silence, but laughing.

"You alright down there Herc?" Rye had blubbered, and he'd stuck his head back up in the same way cartoon moles used to on the cartoons I'd seen played in the village square on summer nights, a treat the Mayor's daughter always insisted on sharing. Anywhere else the comparison would have cracked me up, but here it just made me feel even more homesick, the gnawing in my heart going well into overdrive.

"You guys have to check this place out." He grinned, bobbing back down out of sight. "There's some easy footholds to follow, come on!"

I looked over at Rye and she just shrugged, before kneeling down and tentatively lowering herself down the void. With no other real option I crouched down and followed, trying to ignore the various creepy crawleys I could see scuttling about as I made my way down. My feet found level ground a lot sooner than I would have thought, and as my eyes adjusted to the slightly more dingy light I found myself staring into the entrance of a shallow cavern, twice as wide as I am tall, with what seemed to be a tiny passage veering to the left, which could only be accessed on all fours. A few specks of light filtering in from it could only mean it lead to a second opening.

"Who woulda thunk it hey?" Rye beamed. "Herc just falling into our base camp like the demi god he is."

"Our base camp?" Herc questioned, his eyebrows raised.

Rye smiled, nodding her head ecstatically. "Can you think of anywhere better than this around here?"

"Well no, probably not."

"Then I guess this'll have to be it."

**Airick Marloth, 15, D8**

"All I want right now is some insect repellent, do you think that's t–tt-too much to ask?" Spencer moans, scratching away at the huge welts covering his arms. Last night the arena's insects were well and truly doing their rounds, and poor Spencer seemed to be their number one pit stop.

"I'd really like something to quell my nausea, but it's not gonna happen."

"What about sponsors?" He moans, glaring up at the sky. "Surely we've got someone out there who could spare some dough for a little rrrrrelief?"

"Spence, we've been sitting in a tree for three days straight just about, why would anyone waste their money on us?" I say, pulling my parka up to shield my cheeks from the wind. "They're probably all just waiting for someone to off us already."

"That's an exxxtremely p-pessimistic outlook Airick."

"Well this is an extremely pessimistic situation."

"Touché"

**Katie Chandler, 12, D6**

Russell is walking a few paces ahead of me, completely zoned out and in his own world. His dragging his feet as he walks, paying no heed to the amount of noise he makes, and I just can't excuse that, not anymore. Maybe I would have a few days ago, but that was before I knew there were greapers lurking about. After seeing that thing tear apart Gray I'm not taking any chances. Russ has to go, and it has to be now.

Even as I pull the little knife out and flick it into my sleeve I feel regret washing over me. Despite how annoying the kid has been, he's been a very loyal ally. At the very least I decide I'll make it quick, I'll make sure he feels safe.

_You're going soft,_ my mind snickers, but I ignore it, and instead I call out to Russ, forcing a plethora of tears to stream down my cheeks. Crocodile tears always work a treat.

He turns straight away, his face awash with concern, and I can't help but hate him for his immediate worry. "What's wrong?"

"I want to go home." I blubber, reaching my arms out towards him.

He rushes over, ever the obedient and kind hearted ally, wrapping me up in his teddy bear hug. "Don't cry Katie, It'll be ok. I promise."

"Not for you though Russ." I whisper, snaking my arm around his neck.

He tilts it in trademark confusion, like a little puppy, and asks, "What do you mean Katie?"

I slide the blade across his artery in answer, and try not to feel a thing as his hands grip me tight before the muscles slacken and his blood stains the green around my collar brown.

**Brock Emerald, 18, D1**

Hunger is something new to me. I'd always known the games would be tough, but nothing could have ever prepared me for this. The constant gnawing feeling, the way every tiny morsel that hits my stomach seems to disappear on contact and never ever seems to satiate its needs.

I'm so busy thinking about how hungry I am that I don't see the birds straight away. That's kind of ridiculous, seeing as when I do see them I can hardly understand how I missed them in the first place. Twenty or so metres ahead of us, across a small field and in amongst a cluster of trees is a group of about ten to twenty birds, each one a different color of the rainbow, each as equally fat as the other. Their wings are tiny and more closely resemble a plucked chicken wing than a feathered one, with long flamingo necks that support a parrot like head.

"Is that a dodo?" Rose gasps, pointing towards the creatures with her mouth agape.

Jarred narrows his eyes. "What do you mean by dodo?"

"It's a kind of bird, they went extinct in ancient times, we….you know what never mind."

"Do you think they taste good?" I stammer, feeling my mouth water almost as quickly as my eyes do. Food. We've found food.

"Probably," Aria starts, "but I think we should wait before we just.."

"Stuff waiting I'm getting me a chicken dinner." I shout over her, freeing my spear and making my way towards the group of waddling birds. Aria hisses something at me, but I ignore it. All I can think about is how good it'll be to finally crush the gnawing in my gut, to shut it right up with the first decent meal I've had in almost a week.

I'm not all that quiet when I walk, let alone creep along, and it doesn't take much for the birds to notice my presence. Most of them start to back away, but one holds its ground, head tilted to the side, one beady black eye looking back at me with about as much comprehension of what's going on as a slug. "I get what people mean by bird brained." I chuckle, raising the spear up, getting ready to strike the bird right through the neck. It doesn't make a sound, it just looks back up at me, it's gaze unblinking.

And then in a ball of fire that sticks to my skin and sears its way right through, the damn thing blows right up.

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Tributes Killed This Chapter

15- Russell Darcy, aged fourteen, District Six

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**OOOOOooooOOO Cliffhanger. I feel cruel.**

**Starting next chapter there will be more deaths. No more warming up to the games, these kids will be getting desperate. **


	26. Nausea

**Aria Mallow, 18, D1**

The explosion is by no means a large one, but it's enough to knock us off our feet. Rose screams as she falls, but it's nowhere near as loud or powerful as Brock's. Rose's scream is only from shock, his has absolute agony laced over the terror, and it's enough to make me want to throw up.

I pull myself up off the ground before the other two have their bearings and make my way to where I can see Brock writhing in the grass, the air around him shimmering with smoke and heat. At first all I can see is the green of his parka and a few strips of red clawing their way over his front, but as I get closer I have to stop myself running, if only to stop myself throwing up and breaking down completely.

Brock's beautiful strawberry blond hair is all but gone, and what remains of it has fused with the molten flesh that was once blemish free, save for a few battle scars. As far as I can tell both legs are gone, as well as the arm that was holding his spear. The boisterous boy I'd grown up alongside has been reduced to nothing more than a screaming writhing mass of seared flesh.

"Aria we need to go." Jarred calls out from behind me. "There's nothing we can do for him, not like this."

"I can't leave him here!" I scream back. "I can't leave him here to die, not like this."

There is silence for a few moments, before I feel a hand reach out and squeeze my shoulder blade. "I'll do it. You don't have to."

"No, it has to be me." I stammer, turning to face him, for the first time completely letting my defences down in front of a boy who seems to have nothing inside to defend. "It needs to be me."

Jarred furrows his brow and I can see his jaw clenching, ready to argue, but then it slackens and he sighs. "Fine. You've got two minutes. That's all."

"That's all I need."

I spy Rose standing a few paces away from us, her eyes wide and stuck fast on Brock, who's screams are becoming harder and harder to ignore. "Take her away from view ok?"

Jarred nods, and as silently as he appeared beside me he retreats, leaving me on my own to end my friends pain.

Choking back tears I make my way through the tall grass and kneel beside Brock. At first he doesn't even seem to notice my presence, he just keeps moaning and groaning. I reach my hand out and rest it on his forehead, like I'd seen mothers do to sobbing children back home, and the effect is almost instantaneous. For a moment, just one moment, he relaxes.

"Aria….Aria?"

"I'm here." I stammer.

"Are you going to kill me?"

I falter for a second, because a straight yes doesn't sound right. I brush my fingers across his forehead and try to force a smile. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't."

A soft grunt escapes from the back of his throat, and if it wasn't for the way his eyes creased up, just like when he laughs, I would have thought he was just reacting to the pain. Then he swallows, the grimace returning.

"God I'm scared."

"Don't, you'll be fine." I mumble, pulling the knife out, resting it above his heart, where the fabric from his parka and his skin have melted into one. "I'm serious, you'll be fine."

"If you say so." He swallows hard and a barely there moan escapes from his lips. "On the count of three. One….two…."

"Three." I whisper, just as I slip the knife through his ribs. His whole body shudders for the briefest of seconds, and then his eyes snap shut. I keep counting.

By the time I count to thirteen, Brock is long gone.

**Jane Rooke, 18, D5**

A canon sounds, breaking my train of thought, stopping me from getting the words I want to write down on the page. I hang my hand so the finger faces downwards, forcing the blood to keep seeping out, at least for the time being defying my body's messages to form a clot.

"That's the second one today Grant." I murmur.

"I don't even want to think about it." His eyes are focused hard on my bleeding finger, both of them pin point holes. "You shouldn't do that you know."

"Do what?" I ask, feigning ignorance. I give my finger a quick squeeze and a drop of blood falls away from the wound and onto the page. Using my fingernail I push the liquid around until it forms a lazy 'A' shape. Grant shivers.

"That. You shouldn't do that."

"Well I'm going to do it whether you like it or not. I'm a big girl Grant. I can make my own decisions."

"I wasn't trying to…you know what never mind, forget I said anything." He sighs, making a special effort not to look at my hand, but he doesn't have nearly enough self-control to not look at me at all. He's far too infatuated for all out avoidance. Instead he seems to focus on my hair and occasionally, when he thinks I'm not looking, my face.

"I can see you looking at me you know."I say, and his face flushes immediately. Even though I don't want to say it the words pour out like vomit. "It makes me want to cry."

The blush fades, and instead his face pales with pain. "I'm sorry I don't want you to, I had no idea.."

"No no don't. I didn't mean it like that, please don't be offended." I cut in.

"Well I don't see any other way I could take it Jane."

"No really. It's just, we're here you know? We're in this horrible, disgusting situation that we're probably never going to find our way out of and despite all that you're sitting over the looking at me like that, like you love me. It makes me want to cry because even though you know it's hopeless, that I'm too old for you and it's too late for anything like that anyway, you're still doing it. It's so heartbreakingly beautiful Grant. It's the kind of beautiful that hurts."

He doesn't say anything at first, and the two of us sit staring at one another, the sound of birds far off in the distance the only noise accompanying our own breathing. Then finally he speaks. "I had no idea. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it. I don't mind. I'd rather feel something than nothing at all right now, even if it is a tad melancholic."

He smiles at that, before glancing over at the journal resting in my lap. "Will you write about this?"

I press my finger back down on the paper, and write in the N and the T to finish off his name. "Can't say; spoilers."

**Modest Kline, 14, D12**

"Don't worry Modest, I won't turn around until you say so."

The two of us are getting ready to bath in a stream we came across earlier, desperate to rid ourselves of the woeful smells that have been plaguing us for the last few days. Flinch is being especially kind in letting me get in first, so I don't feel so uncomfortable being in the water with a naked boy. Especially considering that I'll be naked myself. I can only imagine my friends back home watching this all unfold. I bet it looks all kinds of unsavoury, even if it is as innocent as anything.

I'm sure the Capitol is eating it right up.

I bunch my arms around my chest and with my legs crossed I skitter into the water too fast, sending my skin prickling in shock. "Ahhhhh god!" I yelp, sucking in a deep breath. From the corner of my eye I can see flinch turning, an automatic reaction to what I'm sure sounded like a distress call. I bob down and scream, "Flinch! Don't turn around!"

His head snaps back so fast it makes a soft clicking sound, and I can't help but laugh as his neck starts to go all blotchy and red. "Ok, you can come in."

"Your turn to turn around then." He chatters, starting to undress himself. "I bet I'm a lot scarier to look at than you would be."

My fingers tighten around my ribs, which are protruding even more than usual and I grimace as I turn. "I'm not all too sure about that."

"Oh don't be like that." There's a loud splash to the left of me, followed by a string of curse words. "It's so cold!"

"I know right?" I chatter, sinking low enough for my hair to float on top of the water. "Am I right to look now?"

"Yes. That should be fine."

If the people back home were looking forward to watching a water fuelled romance begin to blossom, they must have been left sourly disappointed. All we do is bath ourselves and talk about how hungry we are. There is a brief moment where I catch him looking at me, and for just a second my heart skips a beat or two, because despite where we are this is a real life and might I add naked boy looking at me, but it fades fast. He isn't looking at me like he might love me. No, he could never look at me like that. He's looking at me with concern, like a brother or a father would, his eyes stuck fast on my all too visible ribcage.

"Modest you're starving."

"We both are."

"No, not like you are." He lurches forward, gripping onto my side, onto my ribs with his right hand. His thumb rests in the centre of my stomach and his fingers stretch out almost to my spine. "Jesus Christ Modest, did you eat anything back at the Capitol?"

I shake him off and move to the edge of the water, back towards my clothes, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "One week of food isn't going to fix a lifetime of hunger. You know that. I'm from District 12 after all."

"I didn't think 12 was that bad."

"Well you thought wrong." I mumble.

There's a sound behind me, of twigs snapping, taking the attention away from my pitiful body. I move back from the edge of the stream and closer to Flinch.

Two boys stumble out of the bushes, their eyes wide and fearful. The taller of the two, who I recognize to be the boy from 8 leans over and vomits, hacking and gagging so loud it makes me cringe. He straightens back up and his eyes lock onto the two of us in the water.

While I should feel more afraid than anything all I feel is embarrassed. It doesn't help that both boys look back at us with curious expressions, their eyes darting from Flinch to myself to our clothes on the bank, all the thoughts they're putting together practically visible behind their foreheads. Their confusion gives Flinch just enough time to crouch a little lower and pick up a rock. By the time they realize what he's doing it's too late.

He pitches the rock at the boy from 11 just as the boy from 8 lurches toward us. The rock smacks into the boy's forehead with a sickening thud and knocks him flying off his feet and onto his back. I don't get to see what happens next. Flinch's arm swings out and knocks me out of the way of the fighting and I hit the bank hard, the jagged rocks on the bank cutting across my stomach. It's not a life threatening wound, but it's enough to make me bleed, and as I scurry up the bank I can see the blood staining the already murky water.

"Don't turn around Modest! Get into the woods!" Flinch screams at me. "Don't turn around!"

I have to though; I can't just rush off into the woods not knowing whether he's got any chance of making it out dead or alive. I turn around, even while he screams at me not to.

Flinch has the boy from 8 held under the water, with the kid's arms the only part of him still above the surface. His hands are clawing desperately across Flinch's chest and arms in a last ditch attempt to fight back, but even I know he's got no hope now. It's so desperate, so unbearably raw that I can't handle it. The world blacks out, and I fall to the ground.

**Flinch Lightwood, 17, D3**

The canon sounds for the boy from 8 and I let him go, watching as his body floats down-stream in an ugly and disjointed manor. Nausea starts to build up in my gut but I force it back down, instead turning my attention towards the boy lying on the bank. I make my way over towards him and assess the damage I've done.

His forehead is drenched in blood that dribbles down his face in ugly lines, making him look like he's crying. Just above his left eye is a perfect dent with a deep gash through the centre, the source of the blood still dribbling down his face. There's no denying the fact that he's a goner. You can't survive an injury like that, especially not here. His heart might still be beating away in his chest, but it'll give up eventually.

Not wanting him to lie there in agony I place one hand across his mouth and use the other to pinch his nose together. There is no struggle, not like there was with the boy from 8 back there in the water. This boy goes peacefully. The life leaves him with such ease that I wouldn't have even realized he was gone if it wasn't for the canon sounding.

"Flinch?" I hear Modest whisper from across the stream. I don't dare turn back to face her. Not yet, not after what I've just done. I need a moment to collect myself, to make peace with the fact that I'm now the murderer of not one, but two people.

"Yeah Modest." I whisper back. I'm expecting her to say something about the killing, I'm expecting her to be horrified and disgusted with me.

"Flinch you're still naked."

Despite the seriousness of our situation and despite all the horrible things that have happened in the past week I laugh for what feels like the first time in eons. "I'm guessing you are too then?"

"Yes." She squeaks back. "Don't turn around ok?"

**Rye Goldsmith, 16, D11**

I'm leant over the side of the ledge heaving my guts up. Demeter is sitting beside me, her head resting on her knees.

"Was it something we ate?" She asks.

"I've never had head spins as well as vomiting when I've had food poisoning, so I'm guessing no. Plus Herc isn't throwing up."

"But he's got the spinning whirling headache thing."

"That's more proof against food poisoning than for it Dem."

"Would you two stop moaning and gagging all the time? I'm trying to get some sleep down here." Hercules calls from down in the hole.

'Shut it Lil' Lightning." I quipback.

"I'm just saying, do you want me to get those traps all set up tomorrow morning or what?"

I hiss to myself and crawl over to the hole, careful to move slowly so I don't throw up over it and really give Herc something to whinge about. "Yes. Yes I do. I'm so sorry our illness is causing you such distress."

He doesn't reply to that and I know he's decided to go back to sleep. Gingerly I push myself back towards Demeter and I rest my chin on the edge of the ledge, trying to focus on a star twinkling up in the sky above in an effort to ward off the dizziness. It doesn't work.

"Maybe it's an illness that's been engineered by the Gamemakers." Demeter mumbles.

"That sounds like a pretty good theory you know." I mutter, swallowing back some bile that's beginning to rise up my throat.

"Do you think it could kill us?" She asks, and for a moment I don't know what to say. For all I know that might be the intention. It's probably just as fun to see someone's body turn against them as well as their peers. I doubt it would be anything as simple as that though.

"Maybe. It could easily just be another way to make us feel uncomfortable in our environment. I'd put my money on that, if I had any."

Demeter replies by dropping her head over the ledge and retching violently. The sound makes my stomach churn, but thankfully the anthem begins playing overhead loud enough to drown her out. Carefully I tilt my head up and get ready to watch.

All the dead are male today, all four of them. The first face to light up is the boy from six. His face in the picture is kind and friendly and it makes me feel terrible. Someone like that should never be sent here. Someone that kind never stood a chance. The next one is the cocky blonde boy from 1. Both Demeter and I exchange a glance; we'd never have expected that. I'd have pegged him to have made it all the way to the finale. They're both joined by the boy from 8 and then finally by Spencer. That's all my stomach needs to take control. I push my head over the side and vomit up all that was left of my dinner.

As the anthem comes to a close I feel Demeter's hand rest on my back. "I'm so sorry Rye."

"What for? He was just some kid from my district. I didn't know him. It's no different to any of the other kids dying." I say, wanting so desperately to believe it. We weren't friends, we hardly even spoke five words to one another after the train ride, but it's almost like I've just lost Narnate or Ferrata, or even one of the sisters I left all those years ago. Spencer is a piece of my home, and now he's gone.

I push myself back up and turn to smile at Demeter, but I falter. There's a trace amount of vomit clinging to the side of her mouth, and with the moonlight lighting up her face I can see that it's not all vomit. Some of it is blood.

"What, what's wrong?" She asks, suddenly self-conscious.

"Nothing." I stammer, trying to compose myself. "Nothing, you've just got some vomit," I lean forward and point to the spot where the dreadful mixture is resting.

Demeter's hand shoots up immediately and wipes it away, scraping it off on the side of the ledge. "God, how embarrassing."

I say nothing. I just push a fake smile onto my face and try to forget that I've just seen something to worry about.

* * *

Tributes Killed This Chapter:

14- Brock Emerald, Aged Eighteen, District 1

13- Airick Marloth, Aged Fifteen, District 8

12- Spencer Lux, Aged Sixteen, District 11

* * *

**This was a very, VERY hard chapter for me to write, and the reason for this is because I lost three of my absolute favorites while writing it. While Brock's end has been in my head since the day I wrote his reaping, I had about fifty other ideas for Airick and Spencer. In the end this was the way it had to be, and it broke my heart. Poor poor babies. Thank you to the people who submitted them, they've been excellent characters to work with.**

**Not that any of the others aren't, I just, babies.**

**I'm thinking about including a chapter from the POV of some of the victims/remaining tributes family and friends watching back home at some point and I'd love to know what you guys think about that as an idea. I've always loved the family/friends POV's in Rose Hunter's SYOTs. ****Its just an idea, but I thought it could be interesting. Let me know what you think!**

**I'm sure some of you noticed our resident Psychotic, Miss Kat****ie Chandler, was absent this chapter. I did not forget about her, I just couldn't figure her story into this chapter and I figured well, she's a creepy kid, lets just make her creepier by not letting on to what she's up to at the moment. Which is probably just wandering around the arena like a creep, but hey, It could be something devious. I'll never tell ;)**

**This is a very long AN, I should probably stop now.**

**See you next chapter!**


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